U  M  i \  c  ft 31  r  Y  OF 
NOr.ni  CAROLINA 

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THE  SILVER  RIFLE, 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/silverriflestoryOOguer 


E\)c  Sillirr  Btflr  — Jrontisptrrr. 


Isn't  that  old  Mr.  De  Forest's  rifle?"  p.  42. 


THE 


SILVER   RIFLE: 


A  STORY  OF  THE  SARANAC  LAKES. 


BY 


CLARA  F.  GUERNSEY, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  SILVER  CUP,"  "THE  LEIGHTON  CHILDREN,' 
"  SCRUB  HOLLOW,"  ETC. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
AMERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION, 

No.  1122  Chestnut  Street. 


NEW  YORK :  7,  8  &  10  BIBLE  HOUSE,  ASTOR  PLACE. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S71,  by  the 

AMERICAN   SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION, 

in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

Mr.  De  Forest 9 


CHAPTER  II. 

Mr.  De  Forest's  Letter 32 

CHAPTER  III. 
The  Woods 64 

CHAPTER  IV. 

In  the  Wilderness 89 

CHAPTER  V. 
Lake  Lois 125 

CHAPTER  VI. 
A  Long  Night 149 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

PAGE 

The  Search 172 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Lost  in  the  Wilderness 194 

CHAPTER  IX. 
The  Hair-Line 207 

CHAPTER  X. 
The  Panther 219 

CHAPTER  XI. 
Conclusion •.       .  248 


THE  SILVER  RIFLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ME.   DE   FOEEST. 


IT'S  too  late  for  father  to  come  now,"  said 
Allan  Fitz  Adam,  in  a  tone  of  great  disap- 
pointment. "The  train  must  have  been  in  this 
long  while." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  John,  with  a  sigh. 
"  He  '11  have  had  an  uncomfortable  time  of  it, 
too,  out  there,  at  the  old  place,  with  the  Marshalls. 
I  can't  bear  to  think  they  '11  own  the  house.  I  'd 
rather  it  was  burned  down.  I  don't  see  why 
such  nice  people  as  Mr.  De  Forest  have  such  dis- 
agreeable relations."  Allan  did  not  attempt  to 
answer  this  difficult  question. 

"  I  wonder  what  will  become  of  Pedro  and 
Lorraine,"  he  said.  "  I  am  sure  they  never  could 
go  and  live  with  the  Marshalls." 

"  No,  indeed !     Lorraine  is  so  much  more  of  a 

9 


10  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

lady  than  Mrs.  Marshall,  and  Pedro  so  much 
more  of  a  gentleman  than  Mr.  Marshall,  they 
never  would  get  on  together  at  all :  and  the  poor 
dogs  and  the  cats." 

"  Father  said  he  thought  it  likely  Mr.  De 
Forest  had  provided  for  them  all  in  his  will. 
What  good  times  we  have  had  in  that  house, 
John,  and  how  kind  he  was  to  us  always :  it 
seems  now  as  if  we  had  never  thought  half  enough 
of  him.     I  can't  feel  that  he  is  dead." 

"  Nor  I :  it  seems  as  if  we  should  certainly  see 
him,  if  we  went  there.  I  can't  realize  that  we 
shall  never  sit  in  the  library  again,  and  hear  him 
tell  stories.  I  can  see  just  how  it  looked,  and 
the  two  dogs  and  the  two  old  cats  on  the  hearth- 
rug, and  you  and  I  with  them,  and  he  sitting  in 
his  old  chair,  and  all.  I  hate  to  think  of  the  Mar- 
shall pulling  over  his  things,  and  looking  into 
all  his  drawers,  and  his  desk." 

"  Do  you  remember  the  Sunday  evening  when 
he  showed  us  that  old  Chinese  box,  and  what 
was  in  it  ?  The  little  baby's  shoes — his  little  boy's 
that  died  so  long  ago  —  and.  his  little  daughter's 
old  doll,  and  his  wife's  lace  handkerchief,  the  last 
she  wore.  I  wish  I  had  that  box :  I  'd  take  care 
of  it  as  long  as  I  lived." 

"  Gus  Marshall  asked  me  once  if  I  knew  what 


THE   SILVER    EIFLE.  11 

was  in  that/'  said  John ;  "  and  I  didn't  answer  him. 
And  then  he  said  his  mother  believed  it  had 
jewels  in  it,  and  that  she  thought  her  uncle  might 
give  them  to  her;  but  it  was  just  like  the  old  miser, 
to  keep  them  locked  up." 

" If  there  is  a  boy  on  earth  I  despise,  it's  Gus 
Marshall,"  said  Allan,  with  emphasis.  "  I  hope 
you  didn't  tell  him  what  was  really  in  the  box." 

"  Catch  me  !  But  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  the 
Marshalls  looking  over  those  things.  A  miser, 
indeed!  Why,  Mr.  De  Forest  paid  all  Gus's 
school  bills  :  I  know  he  did." 

"  Certainly ;  and  money  poorly  laid  out  it  was, 
too,  for  he  is  the  greatest  dunce  I  know.  He 
thinks  of  nothing  but  money,  too,  and  being 
fashionable,  and  such  stuff,"  said  Master  Fitz 
Adam,  with  lofty  contempt.  "  If  all  the  old 
things  are  to  be  sold,  I  hope  father  will  buy  some 
of  them  for  the  sake  of  old  times." 

The  two  boys  were  together  in  the  parlour  of 
their  city  home.  The  month  was  September,  and 
the  twilight  was  beginning  to  close  in  so  early,  as 
to  give  notice  of  the  coming  of  long  winter  even- 
ings. 

The  brothers  were  in  rather  a  thoughtful  and 
saddened  mood.  Only  two  days  before  they  had 
heard  of  the  death  of  an  old  friend,  whom  they 


12  THE    SILVER    RIFLE. 

had  known  from  their  childhood,  and  to  whom 
they  had  been  much  attached. 

Mr.  De  Forest  had  been  an  elderly  gentleman, 
who  had  outlived  his  wife  and  children,  and 
whose  nearest  relation  was  a  niece,  whom  he  did 
not  particularly  like,  though  he  had  always  been 
kind  and  liberal  towTard  her  and  her  children. 
However  much  he  did  for  them,  Mrs.  Marshall 
and  her  husband  always  thought  that  he  might 
do  more;  and  though  Mr.  Marshall  had  an  in- 
come much  larger  than  he  spent,  he  made  so 
many  demands  on  his  uncle's  purse,  that  Mr.  De 
Forest  had  been  obliged  to  take  a  decided  stand, 
and  refuse  him  the  money  for  which  he  was 
always  asking ;  for  which  reason  the  Marshalls 
always  spoke  and  thought  of  their  uncle  as  miserly 
and  stingy,  utterly  forgetful  of  the  kindness  they 
had  received  at  his  hands. 

He  lived  in  an  old  house  in  a  lonely  place 
among  the  Catskills,  with  no  companions  but  his 
old  servants,  his  dogs,  his  cats,  and  his  books. 
He  led  rather  a  secluded  life,  and  Mr.  Fitz  Adam 
and  his  two  sons  were  almost  the  only  guests  whom 
he  ever  received  at  his  house.  There,  however, 
the  boys  had  been  frequent  visitors ;  and  it  was 
from  Mr.  De  Forest  that  they  had  learned  to  shoot 
and  to  angle ;  and  Allan  had  even  acquired  no 


THE  SILVER   EIFLE.  13 

mean  skill  in  the  delicate  manufacture  of  artificial 
flies,  which  the  old  gentleman  was  supposed  to 
have  carried  nearly  to  perfection. 

At  that  time  the  wilderness  of  north-eastern 
New  York,  and  the  Adirondack  range,  had  not 
become  the  resort  that  it  is  now.     Any  amateur 
sportsman  who  made  his  way  into  "  John  Brown's 
tract"  was  thought  to  have  performed  quite  a 
remarkable  feat ;  and  the  region  of  the  Saranac 
Lakes  and  the  mountains  was  unknown,  except 
to  the  professional  trapper,  and  a  very  few  gen- 
tlemen whose  love  of  forest  life  had  carried  them 
into  the  recesses  of  the  woods  and  waters.     But 
for  many  years  Mr.  De  Forest  had 'been  used  to 
spend  the  autumn,  and  often  a  large  part  of  the 
early  winter,  in  that  wild  region;  and  it  was  better 
known  to  him  than  to  any  one,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  few  old  guides  and  hunters.     Mr.  De 
Forest  was  not  very  fond  of  talking  of  his  ex- 
periences in  the  wilderness :  perhaps  he  did  not 
care  to  do  anything  to  make  his  favourite  haunts  a 
place  of  resort  for  the  multitude  of  sportsmen. 
He  had,  however,  often  asked  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  to 
accompany  him,  and  that  gentleman  had  always 
intended    to    accept   the   invitation.      Mr.   Fitz 
Adam  was,  however,  a  lawyer,  distinguished  at 
the  bar,  and  overwhelmed  with  business ;  and  lie 


14  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

had  never  yet  been  able  to  find  the  time  when  he 
could  give  up  a  month  or  six  weeks  to  such  an 
excursion,  or  go  so  far  from  the  post-office  and 
the  telegraph.  He  had  always  meant,  and  hoped, 
to  make  the  trip  at  that  indefinite  "  some  time," 
to  which  busy  men  look  forward  all  their  lives, 
and  which  they  so  seldom  attain.  Reserved  as 
Mr.  De  Forest  was  in  general,  he  had  always 
talked  freely  to  the  boys  about  his  adventures 
among  the  lakes  and  mountains,  —  adventures 
which,  of  course,  the  two  brothers  eagerly  desired 
to  share.  They  had  been  promised  that,  when 
they  were  old  enough,  they  should  go  with  their 
old  friend  oil  his  annual  excursion ;  and  they  had 
hoped  that  the  long  desired  trip  might  have  taken 
place  that  fall. 

Many  a  young  gentleman  who  piqued  himself 
on  his  talents  with  rod  and  gun  would  have  given 
a  great  deal  for  the  privileges  accorded  to  John 
and  Allan.  I  fear  that  much  of  the  attention 
which  the  boys  received  from  certain  gentlemen 
of  their  father's  acquaintance,  was  owing  to  the 
wish  of  said  gentlemen  to  know  more  of  Mr,  De 
Forest.  Although  their  old  friend  had  never  so 
much  as  hinted  that  he  did  not  wish  the  stories 
he  told  them  to  be  repeated,  yet  still  John  and 
Allan  had  a   feeling   that    he   would   be   better 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  15 

pleased  if  they  kept  his  confidences  to  themselves. 
It  is  probable  that  their  old  friend  liked  them 
all  the  better  for  their  discretion,  and  that  their 
privileges  at  his  house  were  more  extensive  than 
if  they  had  boasted  of  the  favours  received  at  his 
hands. 

Allan's  first  "  real  grown-up  rod  "  and  John's 
first  fowling-piece  had  been  his  gifts.  It  was  he 
who  taught  them  some  of  the  mysteries  of  fly- 
fishing :  and  a  most  mysterious  art  it  is.  It  was 
he  who  taught  them  to  manage  a  gun,  and  hit  a 
bird  on  the  wing,  and  to  use  a  rifle.  Under  his 
instructions  the  boys  had  really  attained  consider- 
able skill,  and  could  be  trusted  to  go  out  for  a 
day's  hunting,  without  any  great  danger  of  shoot- 
ing themselves  or  their  companions. 

They  had  been  allowed  to  handle,  and  even  to 
fire,  Mr.  De  Forest's  famous  rifle,  with  which  he 
was  known  to  have  performed  some  wonderful 
feats.  This  rifle  was  the  pride  of  the  old  gentle- 
man's heart ;  and  he,  and  of  course  the  boys,  firmly 
believed  that  it  was  the  best  of  its  kind  in  the 
United  States,  —  that  is  to  say,  in  the  world. 

It  had  been  "built"  expressly  for  its  owner 
by  a  celebrated  maker,  and  was  not  only  remark- 
able for  the  useful,  but  for  the  ornamental.  It 
was  lavishly  inlaid   with  solid   silver,  wherevei. 


16  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

such  decoration  could  be  bestowed,  in  curious 
patterns  of  scroll-work  and  foliage,  with  figures 
of  birds,  deer,  and  squirrels  beautifully  designed 
and  executed. 

The  price  which  Mr.  De  Forest  had  paid  for 
this  rifle  was  a  matter  which  he  kept  to  himself; 
but  it  must  have  been  something  very  consider- 
able. 

When  at  home,  this  wonderful  rifle  was  kept  in 
a  case  almost  as  valuable  as  itself;  but  its  "  travel- 
ling carriage,"  as  its  owner  called  it,  was  a  plain 
ordinary  gun-case :  but  it  was  secured  by  a  com- 
plicated lock. 

It  was  not  often,  however,  that  the  rifle  was 
out  of  reach  of  the  old  gentleman's  hand  during 
his  expeditions.  The  trappers  and  hunters  of  the 
wild  region  he  loved,  called  it  "  the  silver  rifle," 
and  regarded  it  with  an  almost  superstitious  re- 
spect. 

Mr.  Marshall  had  more  than  once  expressed  a 
fear  that  his  uncle  would  be  murdered,  for  the 
sake  of  this  rifle,  by  "  some  of  those  people  "  in  the 
woods.  Mr.  De  Forest  had  smiled  at  the  warn- 
ing, however,  and  said  that  if  he  were  ever  killed 
for  any  such  reason,  it  would  be  by  some  member 
of  a  gentleman's  sporting  society,  anxious  to  get 
possession  of  his  fly-book. 


THE  SILVER   EIPLE.  17 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  had  received  with  much  grief 
the  news  of  his  old  friend's  death,  and  had  gone 
to  the  funeral  two  days  before.  To  their  great 
regret,  the  boys  had  been  left  at  home.  .  Mr.  Mar- 
shall's whole  family  was  to  be  at  the  house,  which 
would  be  more  than  full ;  and  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  had 
felt  that,  with  all  his  professional  self-control,  it 
would  be  rather  a  trial  to  him  to  see  the  Mar- 
shall in  possession  of  his  old  friend's  home ;  and 
he  preferred  that  his  sons  should  keep  their  last 
memory  of  the  place  as  they  had  been  used  to 
see  it  during  the  lifetime  of  the  owner.  Perhaps 
it  might  be  that  he  had  some  dread  of  a  collision 
between  John  and  Allan  and  the  Marshalls.  The 
boys  had  consoled  themselves  with  the  thought 
that  they  should  not  see  Mrs.  Marshall,  whom 
they  greatly  disliked,  in  possession  of  the  home 
they  had  loved  so  well. 

They  had  expected  their  father  that  evening, 
and  felt  very  much  disappointed  that  he  had  not 
come. 

"It's  no  use  to  wait  any  longer,"  said  John, 
lighting  the  gas:  "we  might  as  well  have  tea. 
Let 's  ask  Mrs.  Ray  to  let  us  have  it  here :  it 's  so 
lonesome  to  go  down  into  the  dining-room  with 
no  one  but  you  and  me." 

Mrs.  Ray,  the  housekeeper,  —  an  exceedingly 
2*  b 


18  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

good-natured  woman/ — consented  readily  j  and,  as 
she  had  a  friend  of  her  own  to  tea  in  her  room, 
she  left  the  boys  alone.  They  had  hardly  settled 
themselves  at  the  little  table,  when  their  cousin 
Everard  Fenton  came  in. 

Everard  was  a  young  man  of  twenty-one,  who 
had  arrived  at  the  dignity  of  the  sophomore  class 
in  his  college.  He  was  a  great  favourite  with  the 
boys,  and,  sophomore  though  he  was,  he  was  hardly 
older  in  reality  than  his  cousins.  Everard  was  one 
of  those  boys  who  seem  to  take  a  long  time  to  grow 
up,  and  who  are  younger  at  twenty-one  than  are 
others  at  sixteen.  He  was  a  kind,  gentle,  light- 
hearted  sort  of  youth ;  and  notwithstanding  his 
age,  and  his  dignified  position  as  college  student, 
was,  where  John  and  Allan  were  concerned,  rather 
the  led  than  the  leader. 

"  Has  n't  Uncle  Fitz  come  home  ?  "  was  his  first 
question. 

"  No.  We  thought  he  'd  certainly  be  here  to- 
night," said  John.  "  I  can't  think  what  keeps 
him." 

"  Have  some  tea  ?  "  said  Allan,  pouring  it  out. 

"  Thank  you :  you  need  n't  make  it  quite  all 
sugar  and  cream,  though.  Does  Mrs.  Ray  trust 
you  two  young  ones  to  make  tea  for  yourselves  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you    need  n't  put  on  the  sophomore  to 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  19 

us,"  said  John ;  "  I  've  seen  the  animal  before, 
and  it  don't  awe  me ;  not  much.  Why  are  you 
not  back  at  college  ?  I  thought  you  were  going 
back  to-day.  You'll  be  late,  and  then  you'll 
catch  it." 

Everard  put  on  a  look  of  mystery.  "  I  'm  not 
going  back, —  not  just  yet." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  John  and  Allan,  in  a  breath. 

"  Oh,  for  a  reason." 

"  They  won't  let  him,"  said  Allan,  in  a  make 
believe  aside  to  John.  "He's  been  expelled,  or 
dismissed,  or  something." 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Everard,  earnestly,  and 
then  smiling  at  himself  for  being  in  earnest. 
"  But  there  is  a  reason,  and  you  are  not  to  know 
it  just  yet." 

"  Let  him  alone,  and  he  '11  be  sure  to  tell  us," 
said  John. 

"  Maybe  he 's  going  up  into  the  Adirondack 
hunting  deer,"  said  Allan,  making  what  he 
thought  the  most  unlikely  supposition.  To  his 
surprise,  however,  Everard  coloured,  and  said  in  a 
tone  of  great  surprise,  "  Why,  how  did  you  know?" 

Both  the  boys  jumped  up  in  astonishment. 
"  You  don't  mean  it  ?  How  ?  Where  ?  When  ? 
Who  with  ? "  they  asked,  heaping  one  question 
upon  another. 


20  THE    SILVER    RIFLE. 

"Well,  you  see/'  said  Everard,  rather  em- 
barrassed, "it  was  all  settled,  before  you  came 
home  from  grandma's,  that  your  father  and 
mine,  and  you  and  I,  were  going  with  Mr. 
De  Forest  for  a  month  or  so  this  fall.  He  's 
always  wanted  Uncle  Fitz  to  go,  you  know ;  and 
the  last  time  he  was  in  town,  while  you  were 
away,  he  and  my  father  were  talking  together. 
Now  I  must  tell  you  what,  perhaps,  you  don't 

know,  that  Dr.  C has  been  scolding  both  my 

father  and  yours  for  working  themselves  so  hard  ; 
and  he  told  them  both  that  if  they  did  not  take  a 
vacation,  and  a  good  long  one,  they  would  both 
be  breaking  down,  Uncle  Fitz  especially." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  John,  with  some  emotion. 
"  And  father  always  says  he 's  going  to ;  and  he 
did  go  off  with  those  people  in  the  yacht  this 
summer,  but  he  was  telegraphed  home,  finally; 
and  everywhere  he  stopped  there  was  a  pile  of 
business  letters  to  be  answered;  and,  worst  of  all, 
the  other  people  all  fell  to  quarrelling,  and  he 
had  to  settle  it:  so  he  didn't  have  a  very  good 
time." 

"  Why,  John,"  said  Allan,  who  was  not  so 
observant  as  his  brother ;  "  do  you  think  father 
is  n't  well  ?  " 

"  I  know  he  isn't,"  said  John.    "And  I  heard 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  21 

the  doctor  tell  him  myself,  that  if  he  did  n't  take 
more  care  of  his  head  and  eyes,  they  would  fail 
him ;  and  grandma  told  him  so  too ;  and  he 's 
always  putting  off  his  resting  time,  and  putting 
it  off;  and  some  time  it  will  be  too  late ;  and  Uncle 
Fenton  is  just  as  bad." 

Allan  looked  alarmed. 

"  Do  you  mean  there  is  any  danger  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Now  I  think  of  it,  father  has  complained  of  his 
head  a  good  deal  lately.  Oh,  John  !  if  you  knew, 
why  did  n't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  use  of  worrying  two  people, 
when  it  don't  do  any  good,"  said  John,  shortly ; 
"  and  they  did  n't  tell  me  anything  about  it.  I 
only  heard  it  by  accident ;  so  I  had  no  right  to 
repeat  it.  If  he  'd  only  take  more  care  of  him- 
self, and  not  work  so  hard,  he'd  do  well  enough. 
Go  on  with  your  story,  Everard.  What  hap- 
pened next  ?  " 

"  Well,  father  and  Mr.  De  Forest  were  talking 
together  in  the  bookstore,  and  Uncle  Fitz  and 

Dr.  G happened  to  come  in.     So  I  suppose 

the  doctor  thought  he  would  kill  two  birds  with 
one  stone,  and  he  knew  he  should  have  Mr.  De 
Forest  on  his  side :  so  he  talked  to  them  both  very 
decidedly,  and  told  me  I  ought  to  take  care  of 
my  father, — as  if  he  would  mind  me,"  said  Ever- 


22  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

ard,  rather  injured.  "Then  your  father  said 
that  he  meant  to  take  time  by  and  by,  and  go  to 
see  his  brother  in  St.  Louis.  Mr.  De  Forest  said 
that  would  be  no  use :  he  would  be  writing  letters, 
and  answering  telegrams  all  the  while ;  and  that 
as  for  my  father,  the  book-agents  and  beggars 
would  find  him  out,  if  he  were  anywhere  within 
thirty  miles  of  the  railroad.  '  The  only  way  for 
both  of  you,'  he  said,  '  is  to  come  up  into  the 
Adirondack  with  me  this  fall.  I  will  take  you 
where  you  will  hear  or  see  nothing  of  law  busi- 
ness, or  boards,  or  book-agents,  and  where  the 
telegraph  cannot  get  at  you.  Dr.  Fen  ton  can  get 
some  one  to  take  his  pulpit,  if  not  his  place ;  and 
as  for  Fitz,  here,  he  had  better  lose  a  dozen  cases, 
than  bring  on  apoplexy,  or  something  worse.'   So 

then  Dr.  C went  at  both  of  them,  and  Mr. 

De  Forest  helped  him  ;  and  they  fairly  promised 
they  would  go  this  month,  and  you  and  I  were 
t-  go  with  them ;  but  I  was  told  not  to  say  any- 
thing to  you,  because  you'd  be  so  disappointed 
if  anything  happened  to  prevent;  and  besides," 
and  here  Everard  checked  himself. 

"  You  need  n't  stop,"  said  Allan ;  "  I  suppose 
father  thought,  if  we  knew  too  long  beforehand, 
we  should  be  all  on  end  :  but  of  course  it  is  all 
over  now." 


THE   SILVER   EIFLE.  23 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  asked  Uncle  Fitz,  when 
I  left  him  at  the  cars,  if  he  meant  to  give  up  the 
plan,  and  he  said,  No.  He  must  get  away  from  his 
business ;  and  that  Mr.  De  Forest  had  always  been 
wanting  him  to  go ;  and  that  he  should  like  to  see 
the  places  where  his  old  friend  had  spent  so  much 
time,  and  hear  what  the  people  there  could  tell 
about  him,  and  that  we  would  set  out  as  soon 
after  he  came  back  as  we  could." 

"  It  will  seem  sad,  too,  going  there  without 
Mr.  De  Forest,"  said  Allan  ;  "  but  I  would  like 
to  see  the  places  he  has  talked  to  us  about  so 
much,  and  his  old  guide  that  he  used  to  think  so 
much  of." 

"  And  is  that  what  you  have  stayed  at  home 
from  college  for  ?  "  asked  John  of  Everard. 

"  Yes,  partly.  You  see  father  and  mother  don't 
half  like  some  of  the  ways  at  our  college,  and 
neither  do  I ;  and  so,  on  the  whole,  father  says  I 
may  stay  at  home  this  term,  and  study  what  I 
can,  and  go  to  Dartmouth  in  the  spring." 

"  All  right,"  said  John.  "  I  suppose  Allan  and 
I  are  bound  for  the  old  place,  too.  It  runs  in 
the  family." 

"  You  '11  go  together  ?  "  questioned  Everard. 

"  Rather  so,"  said  Allan,  with  a  bright  look  at 


24  THE    SILVER   RIFLE. 

his  brother.  "  I  could  n't  fight  with  any  one  else 
half  as  comfortably  as  I  can  with  John." 

"  You  mean  no  one  else  would  be  able  to  put 
up  with  your  freaks/'  said  John.  "  But,  Allan, 
won't  you  like  to  see  the  lakes  and  the  moun- 
tains he  has  told  us  so  much  about  ?  Oh,  Ever- 
ard,  we  did  use  to  have  such  nice  times  with 
him  !     He  was  so  good  to  us." 

"  Yes.  I  don't  wonder  you  miss  him/'  said 
Everard.  "  I  did  n't  know  him  so  well  as  you, 
but  I  liked  him.  I  don't  know  as  much  about 
hunting  as  you  do;  perhaps  I  don't  care  so  much 
about  it.  How  much  shot  do  you  think  a  gun 
ought  to  carry  to  the  ounce  ?  " 

"  Shot !  "  said  John,  with  mingled  wonder  and 
pity.  "  You  don't  think  you  are  going  out  after 
deer  with  a  shot  gun,  do  you  ?  " 

"  People  do,  I  know." 

"  People  !  "  said  John,  scornfully.  "  People 
may,  if  they  choose :  they  don't  know  better. 
I  '11  tell  you — "  but  the  young  gentleman's  lecture 
was  interrupted,  for  a  carriage  stopped  in  front 
of  the  house ;  and  Allan  jumped  up,  exclaiming, 
"  There 's  father,  after  all !  " 

The  boys  rushed  into  the  hall  to  meet  not  only 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  but  also,  to  their  great  surprise, 
Lorraine. 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  25 

The  latter,  on  seeing  John  and  Allan,  gave 
way  to  the  emotion  she  had  been  repressing  all 
day,  burst  into  tears,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  led  her  into  the  parlor,  and 
seated  her  in  a  great  chair  before  the  fire. 

"  We  Ve  had  rather  a  trying  day,"  he  said  to 
his  sons.     "  She  is  quite  tired  out." 

Allan  put  his  arms  round  the  old  lady's  neck 
and  kissed  her  affectionately. 

"  It 's  so  hard,  I  know,"  he  said,  with  tears  in 
his  own  eyes ;  his  grief  for  his  old  friend  renewed 
by  the  sight  of  Lorraine. 

John  relieved  her  of  her  bonnet  and  cloak,  and 
considerate  Everard  brought  her  a  cup  of  tea. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  my  dears,"  said  Lor- 
raine, trying  to  compose  herself.  "I  did  not 
mean  to,  but  seeing  the  young  gentlemen  brought 
it  all  up  to  me  so  plainly." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  sooth- 
ingly. "  Sit  still,  and  get  rested,  Lorraine.  John, 
ring  the  bell,  please,  and  tell  them  to  get  some- 
thing ready  for  us ;  for  we  have  had  no  dinner. 
A  freight  train  was  wrecked  on  the  track  before 
us,  and  we  have  been  waiting  for  them  to  clear 
away.  Lorraine  was  never  on  the  cars  before, 
and  she  is  tired  out." 
3 


26  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

"  I  think  you  look  pretty  tired,  too,  father/' 
said  Allan,  remembering  with  anxiety  what  John 
had  said  of  the  doctor's  remarks. 

"  I  am  rather  tired ;  but  I  shall  be  better  when 
I  get  some  tea,"  said  Air.  Fitz  Adam,  passing 
his  hand  over  his  forehead. 

Everard  took  his  leave,  and  went  home  to  talk 
over  the  coming  expedition  with  his  father.  It 
was  not  till  after  dinner,  when  Lorraine,  wearied 
out,  had  gone  to  bed,  that  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  told 
the  boys  what  had  taken  place  at  the  old  house. 

"  You  will  be  glad  to  know  that  Pedro  and 
Lorraine  are  provided  for,"  he  said. 

"  I  thought  he  would  provide  for  them,  if  he 
made  a  will,"  said  John;  "but  so  many  people 
never  do." 

"  Mr.  De  Forest  was  not  a  man  to  neglect  his 
duty  to  his  old  friends  in  that  way,"  said  Mr. 
Fitz  Adam.  "  His  will  was  made  a  long  time 
since.  The  house,  and  the  land  about  it,  are  left 
to  Pedro  and  Lorraine  for  life,  with  a  sufficient 
annuity,  on  condition  of  their  taking  care  of  the 
dogs  and  the  two  cats.  After  their  death  the 
place  is  left  to  me,  and  the  whole  of  the  furni- 
ture and  everything  in  the  house." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad!"  said  Allan.  "Now  it 
won't  all  be  pulled  to  pieces." 


THE   SILVER    EIFLE.  27 

"  The  most  of  his  property  he  has  left  to  the 
Marshalls.  It  was  much  larger  than  any  one 
supposed ;  but  they  are  greatly  provoked,  and  dis- 
satisfied that  they  are  not  to  have  the  house  too, 
though  it  is  of  little  value.  There  are  a  few 
other  legacies,  one  of  five  hundred  dollars  to 
Michael  Heath,  the  man  who  used  to  be  with 
him  so  much  in  the  Adirondack.  He  has  left 
you,  Allan,  all  his  fishing  tackle,  including  that 
fine  silver-mounted  rod,  and  has  given  John  his 
silver  rifle." 

"  Oh,  father  !  "  said  John,  half  pleased,  half 
sorrowful.  "  How  much  he  must  have  thought 
of  us?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  he  did.  The  will  stipulates  that 
you  are  to  have  the  rifle  immediately.  I  suppose 
there  are  not  many  people  who  would  trust  such 
a  valuable  piece  to  a  boy  of  your  age ;  but  I  think 
you  will  know  how  to  use  it ;  and  I  am  sure  you 
will  be  careful  of  it." 

"  Indeed  I  will,"  said  John,  who  could  hardly 
believe  that  he  was  the  actual  owner  of  the 
wonderful  rifle.  "Did  you  bring  it  with 
you?" 

"  No ;  I  left  the  things  to  come  down  by  ex- 
press, and  they  will  be  here  to-morrow.  I  sup- 
pose he  thought,  perhaps,  there  was  some  differ- 


28  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

ence  in  the  value  of  the  two  gifts,  for  he  has  given 
Allan  that  pretty  little  silver  tea-set." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  never  should  have  thought  of 
what  the  things  cost,"  said  Allan ;  "  and  I  'd 
rather  have  the  fishing  things  than  anything  else. 
I  suppose  the  Marshalls  did  n't  like  it  very  well ; 
did  they  ?  " 

"  jSto.  They  were  greatly  displeased,  and  said 
some  very  insulting  things,  both  to  Lorraine  and 
Pedro,  and  to  me ;  but  I  hope  I  kept  my  temper ; 
though  I  own  it  Avas  hard  work,  when  Mr.  Mar- 
shall spoke  of  the  folly  of  putting  such  a  valuable 
thing  as  the  rifle  into  the  hands  of  a  dissipated, 
reckless  boy." 

"  Dissipated,  indeed  !  "  said  Allan,  in  high  in- 
dignation, while  John  only  laughed.  "  I  wonder 
when,  or  how?  He  did  indulge  himself  rather 
violently  in  mission  schooling  last  summer,  to  be 
sure.  They  had  n't  better  say  anything,  when 
every  one  knows  how  Gus  goes  on." 

"  Pooh !  What 's  the  use  of  minding,"  said 
John,  carelessly.  "  Every  young  fellow  is  dissi- 
pated, according  to  Mrs.  Marshall.  You  can't 
go  and  get  a  saucer  of  ice-cream,  without  her 
making  out  that  you  are  going  to  ruin.  But  I 
don't  know  what  they  thought  Gus  could  do  with 
the  rifle.     He  's  afraid  of  a  gun." 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  29 

" Sell  it,  of  course,"  said  Allan.  "  They  'd 
sell  their  grandmother,  if  they  could ;  but  I  'ni 
so  glad  they  can't  turn  out  Pedro  and  Lorraine. 
How  did  Lorraine  happen  to  come  down  with 
you,  father  ?  " 

"  She  wanted  to  get  her  mourning ;  and  then 
she  has  a  little  nephew  in  town,  whose  parents 
are  dead,  and  whom  she  and  Pedro  are  going  to 
adopt.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marshall  behaved  so  to 
the  two  old  people,  that  I  really  felt  obliged  to 
interfere.  I  am  glad  you  did  not  go,  boys.  It 
was  disgusting  to  see  the  way  they  went  on  —  in 
that  house  —  even  before  the  funeral.  I  am  made 
executor, — Mr.  Bland  and  I ;  and  I  do  not  sup- 
pose Ave  shall  have  a  very  pleasant  time,  though 
his  affairs  are  all  in  excellent  order ;  but  his  niece 
will  be  sure  to  think  we  have  done  her  injustice. 
She  more  than  hinted  to  me  that  you  and  I  had 
understood  how  to  make  our  own  advantage  with 
the  'poor  childish  old  man/ as  she  called  him. 
Never  mind  them  ;  I  don't  want  to  think  any 
more  about  them.  One  gets  used  to  trials  of 
temper  in  my  profession,  or  ought  to;  but  I  don't 
think  I  ever  had  harder  work  to  keep  mine." 

"  Did  you  know  that  he  had  left  us  anything, 
sir?"  asked  John. 

"  No ;  only  I  knew  he  had  made  his  will,  and, 


30  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

as  he  did  not  ask  me  to  do  it,  I  thought  probably 
we  were  remembered  in  some  way;  but  I  never 
thought  of  his  leaving  us  the  house.  He  spoke 
of  you  both  before  he  died.  Lorraine  will  tell 
you  about  it  to-morrow.  Has  Everard  told  you 
about  this  Adirondack  expedition  ?  " 

"  We  guessed  it  by  accident/'  said  Allan. 

"  Do  you  really  think  you  will  go,  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  I  think  I  shall.  I  begin  to 
feel  that  the  doctor  is  right;  and  that  I  must 
have  some  rest  from  courts  and  referee  cases,  if  I 
want  to  be  good  for  anything  for  the  next  few 
years.  You  need  not  look  so  anxious,  my  sons. 
There  is  no  very  immediate  danger;  and  I  don't 
doubt  a  few  weeks  of  out-door  life  will  quite  set 
me  up.  Your  uncle  needs  it  more  than  I  do. 
How  do  you  think  Everard  will  stand  it '?  " 

"  It  will  be  good  for  him,"  said  John ;  "  only 
he  don't  know  much  about  a  gun,  or  anything  of 
that  sort." 

"  He  has  not  had  your  opportunities.  His  father 
was  by  no  means  a  bad  shot,  when  we  were  young 
men  together.  But  do  you  really  suppose  I  am 
going  to  let  you  go,  too  ?  " 

"  Father,"  said  Allan,  imploringly,  "  you  never 
would  go  off  there  without  us  ?  " 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  31 

"  I  suppose  not ;  but  what  will  the  doctor  say 
at  your  being  out  of  school  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  '11  bring  him  home  the  most  hideous 
crawling  creature  we  can  find,"  said  Allan,  "  and 
then  he  '11  think  it 's  all  right." 

"How  odd  it  is,"  said  John,  thoughtfully. 
"  Nothing  ever  turns  out  just  as  you  expect  it 
will.  We  've  been  looking  forward  to  going  so 
long,  and  now  we  are  going,  to  be  sure,  but 
without  Mr.  De  Forest.  Things  come  about  so 
differently  from  the  way  you  think  they  will. 
Does  n't  it  seem  so,  father  ?  " 

"  Have  you  just  found  that  out,  my  son  ?  "  said 
the  father,  half  amused,  half  saddened. 

"  You  '11  find  that  truer  every  year  you  live, 
I  'm  afraid.  Bring  me  the  Bible,  Allan,  and  we 
will  have  prayers,  and  go  to  bed.  To-morrow 
evening  we  will  talk  over  the  matter,  and  see 
what  we  shall  want." 


CHAPTER  II. 

ME.    DE    FOREST'S    LETTER. 

LORRAINE,  Mr.  De  Forest's  housekeeper, 
was  a  handsome  stately  old  woman.  She 
was  the  daughter  of  a  Seneca  Indian  and  a 
French  Canadian ;  but  she  had  been  adopted 
when  a  child  into  Mr.  De  Forest's  family,  and 
had  remained  there  all  her  life,  marrying  Pedro, 
who  had  grown  up  with  her  in  the  same  house. 
Pedro,  too,  had  Indian  blood ;  but  both  he  and 
his  wife  were  anything  but  uncivilized  people, 
being  highly  skilled  in  all  matters  relating  to 
their  domestic  duties,  and  most  attached  and 
faithful  friends  to  their  "  young  master,"  as  they 
always  called  Mr.  De  Forest. 

Both  of  them  took  great  delight  in  petting  the 
two  Fitz  Adams;  and  John  and  Allan  would  now 
and  then  try  to  vex  their  own  good-natured  house- 
keeper by  their  praises  of  Lorraine's  cookery, 
which  they  declared  to  be  infinitely  superior  to 
anything  at  home.     Pedro  was  as  fond  of  a  gun 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  33 

and  rod  as  his  master;  and  the  boys  had  passed 
many  a  day  wandering  about  the  woods  with  the 
old  man,  and  listening  to  his  stories. 

Both  he  and  Lorraine  had  endless  legends  of 
the  ancient  glories  of  the  De  Forest  family, — the 
wonderful  beauty,  the  dress  and  accomplishments, 
of  its  daughters,  and  the  surprising  talents  of  its 
sons ;  the  horses  they  used  to  ride,  and  their  ad- 
ventures in  peace  and  war. 

To  hear  all  these  tales  did  the  boys^most  seri- 
ously incline.  Pedro  and  Lorraine  firmly  be- 
lieved that  "  the  young  gentlemen "  were,  beyond 
comparison,  superior  in  learning,  manners,  and 
morals  to  any  other  young  gentlemen  of  their 
age.  This  opinion,  however,  they  always  thought 
proper  to  disguise  before  the  said  young  gentle- 
men, and  to  assert  that  they  never  would  be 
quite  equal  to  their  own  father,  or  to  various  and 
sundry  De  Forests  of  long  ago.  Pedro  was 
very  proud  of  John's  steady  hand  and  quick 
eye  in  shooting;  but  John  never  made  a  good 
shot  without  hearing  from  his  old  friend  some 
anecdote  of  what  "young  master"  had  done  at 
his  age.  When  Allan  took  a  prize  in  school, 
Lorraine,  fully  believing  that  he  had  achieved  the 
very  highest  honours,  nevertheless  felt  herself 
bound  to  tell  him,  on  principle,  how  Master 
c 


34  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

Edmund  De  Forest  had  taken  the  gold  medal  ai 
college,  "  and  he  only  two  years  older  than  you 
are,  Master  Allan." 

This  manner  of  discourse  was  adopted  with  the 
laudable  intention  of  repressing  the  vanity  of  the 
young  gentlemen,  and  producing  that  modest 
opinion  of  themselves,  and  their  own  powers, 
which  Pedro  and  his  wife  considered  essential  to 
properly  educated  young  people. 

The  next  morning  John  accompanied  the  old 
woman  to  find  the  child  of  whom  she  had  come  in 
search,  and  who,  by  the  way,  was  Pedro's  sister's 
son.  He  was  a  pretty,  delicate,  intelligent-look- 
ing little  fellow  of  six ;  and  Lorraine's  heart  went 
out  to  him,  as  he  nestled  in  her  arms  and  laid 
his  cheek  to  hers.  He  was  quite  willing  to  go 
with  her ;  and  it  was  with  great  pleasure  that  she 
carried  him  back  to  Mr.  Fitz  Adam's  home. 

"  You  don't  know  how  fond  Mr.  De  Forest 
was  of  you  two,"  said  Lorraine  to  the  boys  that 
evening,  as  she  sat  before  the  dining-room  fire 
with  her  knitting  in  her  hand.  Little  Theodore 
was  contentedly  building  houses  with  some  old 
blocks  of  John's  which  Mrs.  Ray  had  found  for 
him.  John  and  Allan  were  sitting  on  the  hearth- 
rug ;  John  with  his  dog's  head  on  his  knee,  and 
Allan  serving  as  a  parade-ground  for  the  family 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  35 

cat,  who  went  purring  over  and  around  him, 
now  and  then  rubbing  her  nose  against  his  with 
effusive  affection. 

"  I  know  he  was  always  very  good  to  us,"  said 
Allan,  with  emotion.  "  I  can't  feel  that  he  is 
really  gone,  and  that  we  shall  never  see  him 
again." 

"  Not  here,  my  dear ;  but  I  hope  we  '11  all  look 
forward  to  seeing  him  above,"  said  Lorraine, 
softly.  "  If  ever  there  was  a  man  who  kept  the 
two  great  commandments,  it  was  young  master. 
He  didn't  talk  much  about  his  religious  feelings. 
It  never  was  his  way;  but  they  were  very  real  to 
him." 

"  I  know,"  said  Allan.  "  He  always  made 
Sunday  such  a  pleasant  day.  If  all  religious 
people  were  like  him  and  my  uncle  Fenton,  I 
should  think  every  one  would  want  to  be  a 
Christian." 

"  Well,  you  see,  dear,  some  folks  are  smooth- 
grained  Christians,  and  some  are  knotty  Chris- 
tians. Now  young  master  he  was  one  of  the 
smooth-grained  kind.  His  dying  so  suddenly 
was  a  great  shock  to  me,  at  first;  but  I  can  see 
now  that  the  Lord's  way  was  the  right  one,  and 
that  it  was  a  mercy  he  had  no  pain  to  suffer. 
The  night  before  he  died  I  went  into  the  library, 


36  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

as  I  generally  did,  about  ten  o'clock,  and  I  found 
him  sitting  before  the  fire,  with  the  Bible  open 
on  the  stand  before  hirn.  He  was  looking  into 
the  blaze  with  a  kind  of  thoughtful  look  on  his 
face.  I  asked  him  what  he  wanted  for  breakfast ; 
but  he  didn't  answer  me  for  a  minute ;  and  then 
he  said,  without  looking  up,  '  Lorraine,  do  you 
know  this  is  my  wife's  birthday?'  Well,  you 
know,  it  sort  of  gave  me  a  turn ;  for  I  don't  be- 
lieve he  'd  spoken  of  mistress  three  times  to  me 
since  she  died. 

"  It  was  her  birthday ;  and  Pedro  and  I  had  been 
talking  about  it :  and  my  mistress  died  on  her 
birthday, —  thirty  years  ago  that  night.  I  said, 
'  Yes,  sir ;  I  remember.' 

"  '  Lorraine/  said  he,  '  I  think  it 's  almost  time 
I  went  to  her  and  my  children.' 

"  You  can't  think,  my  dears,  how  it  took  me,  to 
hear  him  speak  like  that. 

" '  Sir/  I  said,  '  I  hope  you  will  be  spared  to 
us  for  many  years  yet.' 

"  'That  may  be/  said  he,  with  a  smile, —  such 
a  sweet  look  it  was,  as  if  he  was  seeing  something 
far  away !  '  but  for  all  that,  I  feel  it  is  almost 
time.  I  have  provided  for  you  and  Pedro/  -he 
went  on.  '  The  old  place  will  be  yours  as  long 
as  you  live,  and  after  that  the  house  and  furniture 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  37 

will  go  to  Master  Fitz.'  You  know  we  always 
called  your  father  so.  It  don't  seem  as  if  it  was 
more  than  yesterday  since  he  was  a  boy  like  you. 
Well,  I  was  glad  to  hear  him  say  so;  for  it  had 
always  been  rather  a  trial  to  me  to  think  of  Miss 
Malvina — Mrs.  Marshall,  that  is — taking  posses- 
sion of  all  the  things  that  belonged  to  my  young 
mistress.  She's  not  a  bit  of  De  Forest,  Miss 
Malvina ;  she 's  all  clear  Gibson. 

" '  Yes,'  he  went  on,  as  though  he  were  talking 
to  himself.  '  Fitz  won't  pull  the  old  place  to 
pieces ;  and  I  think  the  boys  will  like  to  come 
back  to  the  house ;  and  it  will  be  a  country  home 
for  them  to  come  to  out  of  the  city.  Lorraine,' 
said  he,  'I  rather  wish  the  little  fellows  were 
here  now.' 

"  '  Why  don't  you  send  for  them,  sir,'  I  said. 

" '  Oh,  they  are  going  out  into  the  woods  with 
me  this  fall,'  he  said.  'Don't  mention  what  I 
have  told  you ;  but  look,  here,  Lorraine, — it 's  a 
fancy  of  mine, — if  I  should  never  see  them  again, 
—  though  I  know  no  reason  why  I  should  n't,  — 
tell  them  that  I  loved  them,  and  thought  of  them 
a  great  deal,  sitting  here  alone  by  myself;  and 
that  they  must  prepare  to  meet  me  where  there 
are  no  partings ; '  and  then  he  said  other  things, 
and  asked  me  if  I  could  remember. 
4 


38  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Well,  I  felt  so  struck  by  what  he  'd  said,  I 
felt  as  if  it  was  a  forewarning,  and  I  said  : 

"  '  Why  don't  you  write  what  you  have  to  say 
to  the  young  gentlemen,  sir?  None  of  us  can 
tell,  to  be  sure,  when  we  shall  be  called  away ; 
and  if  it  should  be  you  were  never  to  see  them 
again, —  which  I  hope  you  will  many  times, — 
they  'd  love  to  have  such  a  letter,  I  know.'  Said 
he :  c  Lorraine,  I  think  I  will ;  and  I  '11  do  it  to- 
night.' 

"  '  Don't  you  feel  well,  sir  ? '  I  said ;  for  I  was 
startled. 

" ( Yes,'  said  he,  '  as  well  as  usual ;  but,  Lor- 
raine, you  know  how  your  mistress  left  us,  and 
my  father ;  and  I  think  I  '11  take  your  advice.  I 
suppose  it  is  the  day  has  made  me  think  of  these 
things.' 

"So  he  opened  his  writing-desk;  and  I  went  out 
and  told  Pedro;  and  he  said  it  was  only  my 
notion ;  but  we  both  sat  up  till  he  went  to  bed. 
The  next  morning,  when  Pedro  went  up,  he  found 
him  lying,  just  as  he  had  passed  away  in  his  sleep, 
with  a  smile  on  his  face,  and  looking  so  still  and 
happy.     I  shall  always  think  he  was  forewarned." 

"Do  you  know  if  he  did  write,"  said  John, 
in  a  low  voice.  Allan  was  too  much  moved  to 
speak. 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  39 

"  Yes,  my  clear ;  I  found  the  letter  between  the 
leaves  of  his  Bible,  and  took  it,  and  kept  it  for 
you,  or  I  do  believe  Miss  Malvina  would  have 
read  it.  Here  it  is,"  and  Lorraine  drew  from 
her  ample  pocket  a  carefully  folded  paper,  from 
which  she  took  the  letter.  It  was  directed  "  To 
my  two  dear  boys."  Allan  leaned  over  his  broth- 
er's shoulder,  and  read  it  through  his  tears. 

"  My  dear  Lads,"  it  began : 

"  Though  I  know  no  reason  why  I  should 
not  hope  to  meet  you  again,  and  go  with  you  on 
our  journey  that  we  have  so  often  talked  about, 
yet  still,  sitting  here  to-night,  by  the  fire,  I  have 
remembered  that  I  am  an  old  man,  and  that,  like 
some  others  of  my  family,  my  call  may  be  sud- 
den. You  two  have  been  very  dear  to  me,  and 
your  society  has  been  the  greatest  comfort  of  my 
old  age.  You  have  been  good  and  dutiful  boys 
to  me — " 

"  Oh,  I  was  n't,  I  was  n't,"  said  Allan,  with  a 
sob.  "  I  pulled  Sport's  tail,  and  made  him  growl ; 
and  I  meddled  with  the  red  hackle,  when  he  told 
me  not." 

"  He  never  laid  it  up  against  you,  my  dear," 
said  Lorraine ;  "that  you  may  be  sure."  John  said 
nothing ;  but  he  remembered,  with  a  pang,  one  or 


40  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

two  little  things  said  and  done,  which  now  he 
would  have  been  glad  to  recall. 

"  You  will  see,"  continued  the  letter,  "  when  I 
am  gone,  that  I  have  not  forgotten  you.  Let  me 
ask  you  not  to  lend  the  rod  and  the  gun  to  any 
one  but  to  each  other. 

"  You  will  be  going  to  college  soon  ;  and  you 
will  be  much  in  the  world  ;  and  you  will  hear  and 
see  a  great  many  things  of  which  I,  in  my  solitude, 
only  hear  and  see  the  echoes  and  shadows.  Allan 
read  to  me  once  out  of  some  of  the  poems  he  likes : 

'  The  old  order  changes,  yielding  place  to  new, 
And  God  fulfills  himself  in  many  ways.' 

"You  are  of  the  young  generation,  and  must  go 
with  it, —  in  many  things  which  seem  very  strange 
in  my  old  eyes ;  but  trust  me  one  thing,  my 
dears,  in  all  the  years  I  have  lived,  I  have  felt 
more  and  more  that  Christ  is  '  the  way,  the  truth, 
and  the  life  ;'  and  that  whatever  of  good  science 
may  teach  you,  or  whatever  wild  notions  men 
may  conceive  and  send  abroad,  '  no  man  cometh 
unto  the  Father  but  by'  him.  Keep  near  him, 
my  sons.  Love  your  father  and  one  another. 
You  are  very  much  united  now.  Don't  let  the 
world  part  you.  It  has  nothing  half  so  good  to 
give  as  brotherly  love  and  trust. 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  41 


"  May  God  bless  you,  and  bring  you  into  his 
everlasting  kingdom. 

"  Your  old  friend, 

"  Lawrence  De  Forest." 

The  boys  drew  closer  to  one  another  as  they 
finished,  and  sat  in  silence  for  some  time,  greatly 
moved  and  touched  by  these  last  words,  which 
seemed  to  come  now  like  a  message  from  the 
other  world. 

Little  Theodore  came  to  his  aunt,  saying  that 
he  was  sleepy,  and  wanted  to  go  to  bed  •  and  Lor- 
raine rolled  up  her  knitting,  and  went  away  with 
the  child. 

When  the  brothers  were  left  alone,  John  put 
his  arm  over  Allan's  shoulder,  and  drew  him 
closer. 

"We'll  try  and  remember  this,  won't  we?" 
he  said,  looking  into  the  fire. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Allan,  returning  the  caress. 
"  John,  do  you  know  I  've  been  ever  so  jealous 
of  Everard,  sometimes,  lately?" 

"  You  silly  fellow,"  said  the  other;  "  Everard's 
a  nice  boy  enough,  and  I  like  him ;  but  he  is  n't 
you  :  nobody  else  is." 

"  All  right,"  returned  Allan,  assenting  to  this 
indisputable  proposition,  and  then  looking  round 


4* 


42  THE   SILVER    RIFLE, 

to  be  quite  sure  that  no  one  saw  them,  the  boys 
exchanged  a  kiss,  though  they  were  fifteen  and 
sixteen. 

The  next  morning  the  expressman  brought  the 
cases  containing  the  silver  rifle  and  the  fishing 
tackle, — Mr.  De  Forest's  last  gifts  to  his  young 
friends. 

"  Is  n't  that  old  Mr.  De  Forest's  rifle  ? "  said 
the  expressman,  with  interest,  as  John  opened  the 
outer  case,  and  showed  the  inlaid  one  within. 

"  Yes,"  said  John.    "  Did  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Is  he  dead,  then  ?  "  said  the  expressman,  in  a 
tone  of  regret. 

"  Yes ;  he  died  last  week,"  said  Allan,  with  a 
sigh.  "  He  left  the  rifle  to  my  brother,  and  his 
fishing  tackle  to  me.  We  used  to  be  with  him  a 
great  deal." 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  had  been  obliged  to  send  out 
for  change,  so  that  the  man  had  to  wait  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  seemed  not  sorry  to  do  so. 

"  He  was  a  real  nice  old  gentleman,"  said  the 
messenger,  watching  the  opening  of  the  rifle-case 
with  great  interest.  "  I  was  raised  in  the  village. 
My  father  was  a  gunsmith  there ;  and  if  Mr.  De 
Forest  wanted  any  little  tinkering  done,  he  used 
to  come  to  father.  Many  a  time  I  've  seen  him 
with  that  rifle.     And  what  a  gentleman  he  was ! 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  43 

There  never  was  anything  stuck  up  about  him : 
just  the  same  to  everybody.  He  was  very  good 
to  my  father  once.  Father  'd  been  laid  up  with 
the  rheumatism,  one  fall,  and  could  n't  do  any- 
thing ;  and  after  he  was  well,  my  mother  she 
took  sick,  and  my  old  grandmother  that  lived 
with  us  died  j  and  what  with  sickness,  and  what 
with  the  funeral  expenses,  we  had  n't  a  red  cent 
left  in  the  world,  and  what  to  do  my  father  did  n't 
know ;  and  we  were  in  a  peck  of  trouble,  and  in 
debt,  and  it  seemed  as  if  our  little  home  would 
have  to  go;  for  you  see  father 'd  mortgaged  it, 
and  could  n't  pay  neither  interest  nor  principal. 
Well,  Mr.  De  Forest  he  heard  of  it;  and  he 
never  said  a  word,  but  he  just  goes  and  buys  up 
the  mortgage  himself,  and  told  my  father  to  take 
his  time  to  pay  it,  'because,'  says  the  old  gentle- 
man, '  I  know  you  will,  in  time ;  and  at  all  events, 
you  see  your  wife  and  children  must  n't  be  with- 
out a  home.'  And  he  did  more,  for  he  lent  father 
money  to  get  stock,  and  said  he  thought  he  could 
find  work  for  him ;  for  that  was  all  father  wanted 
to  get  on :  for  he  understood  his  trade  first-rate, 
did  father.  And  father  says  he,  <  This  is  what 
I  call  Christian  charity,  Mr.  De  Forest.' 

" '  Oh,  no,'  says  the  old  gentleman,  in  his  nice, 
polite  way.      'We  won't"  call   it   charity,  Seth. 


44  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

It's  only  a  little  neighbourly  kindness.  I  am 
sure  you  would  do  as  much  for  me,  if  I  were  in 
trouble/ 

"  And  father,  he  was  so  kind  of  beat  out,  you 
know,  he  just  sat  right  down  on  the  bench  and 
cried.     Fact ! 

"  Well,  he  did  first-rate,  and  got  on  as  well  as 
possible,  and  paid  it  all  back  again  —  'cause  we 
none  of  us  wanted  anything  given  to  us ;  but  it 
was  the  way  of  it,  don't  you  see  ?  Yes,  he  was 
a  nice  old  gentleman.  Well,  here 's  the  change. 
Thank  you,  sir.  Who  's  to  have  the  old  place, 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  if  it 's  a  fair  question  ?  " 

"  The  two  old  people,  for  their  lives,  and  then 
it  will  come  to  me  or  my  boys,"  said  Mr.  Fitz 
Adam,  who  had  been  pleased  both  with  the 
story  and  with  him  who  told  it. 

"  Well,  I  'in  glad  of  it,"  said  the  expressman, 
heartily.  "  I  kind  of  hated  to  think  of  them 
relations  of  his  taking  possession  there.  There 
is  n't  a  house  on  m}^  beat  where  I  hate  to  go  so 
bad.  Well,  good-morning,  young  gentlemen. 
1  'm  glad  the  things  have  fallen  into  such  good 
hands." 

"  How  every  one  dislikes  those  Marshalls," 
said  Allan ;  "  and  yet  they  are  always  so  anxious 
to  please  people  whom  they  think  are  a  bit  finer 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  45 

than  they  are.  How  beautifully  nice  that  rifle 
has  always  been  kept.  You  must  try  and  have 
it  so  always,  John.  That 's  the  worst  of  a  gun. 
It's  got  to  be  cleaned;  and  no  one  will  ever  do  it 
for  you  as  it  ought  to  be  done." 

John  laid  the  rifle  carefully  away,  locked  the 
case,  and  putting  the  key  in  his  pocket,  felt  with 
mingled  pleasure  and  regret  that  he  was  the 
actual  owner  of  the  wonderful  weapon  he  had  so 
often  admired. 

"  Get  the  chisel  and  hammer,  Allan,"  he  said ; 
"  I  suppose  Pedro  has  packed  the  things  all  to- 
gether in  that  case." 

The  boys  unpacked  the  large  box  almost  with 
reverence,  both  for  the  giver  and  for  its  contents. 
There  was  nothing  but  what  renewed  most  vividly 
these  associations  with  their  old  friend.  There 
was  the  elegant  cabinet  containing  all  the  thou- 
sand and  one  materials  of  fly-making,  carefully 
assorted  and  labelled  in  their  different  trays. 
There  were  stores  of  the  best  lines  and  hooks, 
enough  to  last  any  one  a  lifetime.  There  was  the 
rod  which  Mr.  De  Forest  had  carried  on  his  last 
expedition, —  Conroy's  best  work, —  a  plain,  but 
elegantly  .finished  instrument;  and  another,  which 
had  been  a  present  to  Mr.  De  Forest,  a  most 
beautiful  thing  in  the  eyes  of  an  amateur  angler. 


46  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

This  rod  had  been  got  up  quite  regardless  of  ex- 
pense, and  was  fitted  and  ornamented  with  solid 
silver,  and  with  every  improvement  which  it 
could  have.  If  there  was  anything  to  be  objected 
to  this  rod,  it  was  that  it  was  rather  too  fine  for 
use.  Mr.  De  Forest  had  always  kept  it  with 
great  care ;  but  he  had  not  often  carried  it,  pre- 
ferring, like  most  practical  anglers,  an  instrument 
not  quite  so  showy,  and  thinking  his  friend's  gift 
too  elegant  and  expensive  to  be  subjected  to  those 
numerous  accidents  to  which  fishing-rods  are 
heirs. 

"  Father,"  said  Allan,  "  I  believe  I  won't  take 
this  up  into  the  wilderness.  It 's  too  nice;  and  I 
might  lose  it,  or  break  it,  or  something." 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  said  his  father,  rather 
surprised  at  the  boy's  good  sense. 

"  And  don't  you  think  I  ought  to  take  the  rifle, 
sir  ?  "  said  John,  looking  rather  anxious  and  dis- 
consolate at  the  thought  of  leaving  it  behind. 

"  That 's  rather  different,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 
"  A  gun  is  not  so  likely  to  be  broken  as  a  rod ; 
and  I  suppose  there  is  no  great  danger  of  your 
losing  it." 

"  I  'd  as  soon  lose  my  head,"  said  John. 

"  I  've  known  you  do  that,"  said  his  father, 
smiling ;  "  but  I  can't  say  I  ever  saw  you  neglect 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  47 

your  gun.  Mr.  De  Forest  always  carried  it ;  so 
I  suppose  you  may.  But  what  am  I  thinking  of, 
to  stand  chattering  here  with  you  two  youngsters, 
when  I  should  be  at  the  office  hearing  a  case." 

"  Dear  me/'  said  Allan ;  "  I  wish  there  was  n't 
any  office,  and  then  you  could  be  with  us  all  the 
time." 

"  I  wonder  what  you  think  you  would  do  for 
your  bread  and  butter,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
office,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam;  but  he  smiled  to 
himself  as  he  went  down  the  steps,  thinking  that 
it  is  not  every  boy  who  wishes  for  his  father's 
company  "  all  the  time." 

At  the  bottom  of  the  box  Allan  found  the  little 
old  fashioned  silver  tea-set,  which  he  remembered 
in  connection  with  more  than  one  pleasant  little 
feast  prepared  at  some  odd  time,  on  return  from 
some  expedition  among  the  hills,  with  Pedro,  or 
his  master. 

The  boys  carried  all  their  possessions  up  into 
their  own  room,  and  were  presently  joined  by 
Everard,  who  was,  of  course,  full  of  the  proposed 
journey.  The  three  spent  a  most  delightful  morn- 
ing arranging  all  their  treasures,  and  selecting 
from  among  their  stores  such  things  as  they  wished 
to  take  with  them  into  the  wilderness. 

Allan  and  John  bestowed  a  great  deal  of  infor- 


48  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

niation  on  their  cousin,  perhaps  more  than  was 
absolutely  necessary ;  but  E verarcl  was  very  good- 
naturecl,  and  did  not  resent  the  instruction  which 
his  juniors  lavished  upon  him. 

Allan  accompanied  his  advice  with  a  generous 
donation  of  "  flies,"  and  showed  his  cousin  how 
to  make  a  proper  book  to  contain  these  treasures. 
Everard  was  more  deft  with  his  fingers  than 
many  a  girl,  and  readily  put  his  cousin's  direc- 
tions into  execution. 

The  three  passed  a  most  delightful  day,  and 
Everard  agreed  to  remain  till  evening,  and  talk 
over  the  matter  still  further  with  his  uncle  .Fitz. 

Allan  went  in  the  afternoon  to  see  Lorraine  and 
her  little  nephew  safe  on  board  the  cars ;  and  hav- 
ing said  "Good-by"  to  his  old  friend,  he  was 
leaving  the  station,  when  he  was  accosted  by 
A  ugustus  Marsh  al  1 . 

There  was  very  little  liking  between  the  two 
boys,  but  still  they  were  on  speaking  terms, 
rather  because  Augustus  was  desirous  of  being 
seen  with  the  son  of  a  distinguished  man,  than 
from  any  great  degree  of  self-restraint,  or  polite- 
ness, on  the  part  of  Master  Fitz  Adam.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marshall  had  regretted  that  their  an- 
noyance about  the  will  had  led  them  to  treat  Mr. 
Fitz  Adam  with  disrespect.     Augustus  had  been 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  49 

directed  by  his  parents  to  behave  to  John  and 
Allan  "just  as  if  nothing  had  happened."  He 
accordingly  greeted  Allan  with  a  sort  of  half- 
familiar,  half-fawning  fashion,  which  he  mistook 
for  the  "  easy  elegance "  described  in  the  trashy 
third-rate  stories  which  formed  his  only  reading. 
These  works  were  equally  untrue  to  nature  and 
art.  They  abounded  in  the  most  surprising  pic- 
tures of  fashionable  life,  lords  and  ladies,  and  bad 
grammar ;  and  it  was  hard  to  tell  in  these  books 
which  were  the  more  vulgar  and  silly,  the  authors 
or  their  works. 

Allan  had  as  little  worldly  pride  as  any  boy  in 
the  city.  He  would  have  walked  down  Broad- 
way with  a  chimney-sweep,  provided  he  had 
liked  the  chimney-sweep,  quite  indifferent  to  the 
opinion  of  the  passers  by.  It  was  not  long  since 
he  had  amazed  Mrs.  Marshall  by  carrying  home 
a  basket  of  potatoes  for  an  old  Irish  woman 
whom  he  happened  to  know.  And  while  so 
engaged,  he  had  bowed  to  the  lady  in  her  car- 
riage, quite  unconscious  that  he  was  doing  any- 
thing remarkable. 

But  there  was  something  in  Gus  Marshall's 
manners  and  customs  which  invariably  irritated 
and  aggravated  Allan,  and  developed  in  John  a 
5  D 


50  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

certain  reserve  and  dignity  quite  wonderful  to 
behold  in  such  a  very  young  gentleman. 

"  Ah,  Fitz  Adam  \  how  are  you  ?  "  said  Gus, 
who,  at  seventeen,  assumed  all  the  airs  of  what 
he  supposed  to  be  "  a  man  of  the  world."  "  Been 
acting  as  the  old  lady's  beau,  have  you  ?  " 

"  I  've  been  seeing  Lorraine  on  the  cars,"  said 
Allan,  coldly,  and  walking  on  very  fast.  Gus, 
however,  kept  at  his  side. 

"  Well,"  said  Gus,  "  I  suppose  you  are  very 
well  pleased  with  what  the  old  gentleman  has 
left  you.  Upon  my  word,  Fitz  Adam,  I  did  n't 
give  you  credit  for  so  much  knowledge  of  the 
world  and  its  ways,  as  to  think  you  could  get  the 
old  fellow  to  do  so  much  for  you  in  his  will." 

"  Gus  Marshall,"  said  Allan,  hotly,  "  I  '11  thank 
you  not  to  talk  to  me  about  your  uncle  like  that. 
I  should  think  you  'd  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"  Now,  look  here,  Fitz,"  said  Gus,  with  an  air 
of  superiority. 

"My  name  doesn't  happen  to  be  Fitz,"  inter- 
rupted Allan. 

"  Well,  then,  Fitz  Adam.  Now  you  see,  of 
course,  I  understand  it  all,  and  your  reasons  for 
visiting  him  so  much  ;  and  I  don't  blame  you.  It 's 
the  way  of  the  world,  every  one  for  himself.  '  Dear 
me,  ma'am,'  I  said  to  my  mother,  'why  should 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  51 

you  blame  the  Fitz  Adams  for  looking  out  for 
number  one  ?  Don't  we  all  do  it  ?  Of  course, 
it  isn't  to  be  supposed  that  two  young  fellows 
about  town,  like  John  and  Allan,  would  go  and 
bury  themselves  in  the  woods  with  an  old  man 
like  that,  unless  they  expected  to  get  something 
by  it ; '  and  you  've  done  it :  all  right.  I  don't 
bear  any  malice." 

"  I  'm  not  a  young  fellow  about  town,"  retorted 
Allan,  in  high  indignation;  "and  I  wouldn't  be, 
for  anything.  Know  the  world  indeed !  A 
wonderful  mean  kind  of  world  you  must  live  in, 
if  you  think  everybody  is  as  contemptible  as  all 
that.  Do  stop  talking  about  the  matter.  You 
don't  understand  that,  nor  much  of  anything 
else." 

This  remarkably  candid  speech  astonished  Gus, 
who  had  supposed  that  his  remarks  were  emi- 
nently calculated  to  impress  his  companion  with 
a  feeling  of  respect  and  admiration.  Gus  was 
quite  incapable  of  understanding  the  disgust  and 
angry  contempt  which  his  conversation  inspired. 

Except  among  a  few  silly  boys  who  thought 
him  a  model  for  imitation,  a  desire  to  avoid  Gus 
Marshall's  company  was  very  general  in  school 
and  society ;  and  there  were  probably  few  youths 
of  his  age  who  subjected  themselves  to  as  many 


52  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

snubs  and  settings  down  as  this  young  person, 
who,  with  all  his  ambition  to  be  considered  ele- 
gant and  fine,  had  not  the  least  idea  of  what  was 
essential  to  elegance  or  refinement. 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Allan  !  "  he  said,  attempting 
to  take  his  companion's  arm.  "  What  is  the  use 
of  putting  on  airs  to  me  ?  Don't  I  know  the 
way  of  the  world  ?  You  did  what  your  father 
told  you,  of  course;  and  a  man  don't  earn  his 
place  in  his  profession  without  knowing  which 
side  his  bread  is  buttered.  Did  n't  I  say  I  did  n't 
blame  you  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  exclaimed  Allan,  turn- 
ing on  Gus  with  flashing  eyes,  "that  when  we 
went  to  your  uncle's,  we  did  it  with  the  idea  of 
getting  anything  out  of  him  ?  " 

"  No ;  oh,  no,  of  course  not,"  said  Gus,  rather 
dismayed.     u  Never  mind." 

"  There,  don't  you  make  such  insinuations 
again,"  said  Allan,  quite  fiercely,  "  about  us,  or 
about  my  father.  Do  talk  about  something  else, 
if  you  must  talk,"  concluded  the  boy,  half  aloud. 

But  Gus  was  determined  not  to  take  oifence. 
He  wanted  to  remark  among  the  companions 
whose  society  he  most  affected,  that  so  and  so 
happened  "  when  he  was  walking  with  young 
Fitz  Adam." 


THE  SILVER  RIFLE.  53 

"  Are  you  going  back  to  school  on  Tuesday  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  No  ;  I  'm  going  up  into  the  north  woods  with 
my  father  for  a  month."     . 

"  Indeed  !  Well,  do  you  know  I  rather  expect 
I  am  going  too  ?  " 

"  You  are !  "  exclaimed  Allan,  by  no  means  in 
a  tone  of  rapture. 

"  Yes.  Some  fellows  I  know  are  going  up  as 
far  as  Keeseville,  at  all  events;  and  I  am  going 
with  them.     Where  are  you  to  be  ?  " 

"  We  don't  know  yet,"  said  Allan,  inwardly 
determined  to  be  nowhere  where  Gus  might  be 
found. 

"  You  won't  have  as  much  fun  as  we  shall,  be- 
cause you'll  be  under  your  father's  eyes,  and 
your  uncle's  the  minister,  all  the  while.  I 
heard  he  was  going,  and  I  suppose  it 's  with  you. 
You  'd  better  throw  them  over  and  come  with  us. 
Mighty  poor  fun  it  would  be  for  me  to  go  to  any 
such  place  with  a  minister  and  my  father." 

"  I  'd  rather  go  with  my  father  than  with  any 
one  else  in  the  world,"  said  Allan,  with  emphasis ; 
"  and  I  hope  I  don't  do  anything  I  'd  be  ashamed 
to  have  a  clergyman  know." 

"  Oh  !  We  all  know  you  and  John  have  laid 
yourselves  out  to  be  saints,"  said  Gus,  laughing. 


54  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

"  Well,  it 's  a  line  that  pays,  especially  with  the 
girls." 

"  Gus  Marshall,"  said  Allan,  who  felt  at  that 
moment  in  anything  but  a  saintly  frame  of  mind, 
"  I  do  just  wish  you  would  n't  talk  to  me  that 
way,  or  any  other.  I  never  did  see  a  boy  —  and 
you  're  nothing  but  a  boy  for  all,  as  grand  as  you 
feel  —  that  had  such  contemptible  notions  as  you 
have  about  everything.  I  don't  want  to  be  rude ; 
but  you  don't  know  how  your  talk  sounds.  If 
you  did,  you  would  n't  be  so  silly." 

"  Why,  what  gunpowder  you  are  !  "  said  Gus, 
colouring,  but  determined  to  keep  his  companion 
as  long  as  he  could.  "  No  wonder  the  boys  call 
you  '  Fire-cracker  Fitz.'  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  they  call  me,"  said  Allan  ; 
and  having  reached  the  stairs  which  led  to  his 
father's  office,  he  turned  short  round  and  ran  up 
three  steps  at  a  time,  rushing  into  the  office  in 
quite  a  little  whirlwind  of  excitement. 

For  a  wonder,  just  at  that  moment  there  was 
no  one  in  the  room  but  his  father  and  his  uncle 
Fenton,  and  Allan  at  once  burst  out  with  the 
question  : 

"  Father,  is  everybody  in  the  world  just  as 
mean  and  contemptible  as  they  can  be  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  son,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  calmly, 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  55 

"  that 's  rather  a  large  general  inquiry.  I  should 
like  to  hear  the  special  case  before  giving  any 
opinion." 

"  Well,  now,  are  they  ?  "  said  Allan,  appealing 
to  his  uncle,  who  had  smiled  a  little,  but  not  un- 
kindly, at  the  boy's  excitement.  "  It's  just  that 
Gus  Marshall.  He  would  walk  with  me ;  and  he 
said  such  things,  that  we — you  and  I  and  John — 
had  been  to  Mr.  De  Forest's  for  what  we  could 
get ;  and  that  he  —  he  —  only  just  think  of  it !  — 
did  n't  bear  any  malice  toward  us  for  it !  And 
he  said  that  you  knew  which  side  your  bread  was 
buttered;  and  you  don't,  do  you?" 

"  Let  us  hope  not  in  the  sense,  or  in  the  par- 
ticular instance,  which  Master  Gus  meant.  Com- 
pose yourself  a  little,  my  boy,  if  you  can.  When 
you  have  been  a  lawyer  for  a  few  years,  you  won't 
be  able  to  get  up  such  a  tempest  at  every  silly  or 
low-minded  speech  you  happen  to  hear." 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Fenton  smiled  slightly ;  for 
among  his  friends  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  was  well 
known  to  possess  a  fine  talent  for  virtuous  indig- 
nation. 

"  And  he  said  it  was  the  way  of  the  world,  and 
that  nobody  cared  for  anybody  else,  only  for  what 
they  could  get,  and  that  every  one  was  like  that. 
Oh,  father  !  is  that  so  ?     I  'm  sure,  if  it  is,  I  don't 


56  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

want  to  keep  on  living/'  concluded  Allan,  in  some 
emotion. 

"  My  dear  boy/'  said  his  father,  putting  down 
his  papers  and  drawing  his  son  toward  himself; 
"  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  been  so  annoyed  and 
excited.  I  can  only  tell  you  my  own  experience 
of  the  world  in  answer  to  your  question.  In  our 
profession  we  do  not  always  see  the  best  side  of 
humanity,  and  perhaps  grow  rather  hardened ;  but 
even  in  my  experience  in  my  work,  while  I  have 
seen  a  great  deal  that  was  contemptible  and  selfish, 
I  have  also  seen  magnanimity  and  kindness,  jus- 
tice done  at  the  expense  of  great  self-sacrifice,  high- 
mindedness  and  goodness  coming  out  sometimes 
where  it  was  least  expected.  There  are  a  great 
many  little  worlds  in  the  big  one,  and  they  are 
ruled  by  different  spirits.  I  suspect  that  what 
Master  Gus  would  call  '  the  world/  is  perhaps 
the  smallest  and  meanest  of  them  all ;  ruled  by 
the  very  lowest  and  most  contemptible  of  all 
ambitions, — a  desire  to  be  considered  knowing,  and 
a  wish  to  be  at  once  fast  and  fashionable.  Judge 
from  your  own  experience  of  '  the  world/  Allan. 
Do  you  think  that  every  one  you  know  acts  from 
mean  motives  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  sir ;  not  you,  nor  grandma,  nor 
my  uncle.     Mr.  Do  Forest  did  n't.     Don't  you 


THE  SILVER   EIFLE.  57 

remember  what  the  expressman  told  us  this  morn- 
ing ?  " 

Here  a  gentleman  entered,  who  wished  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  in  private. 

"  You  had  better  ask  your  uncle  what  he  can 
tell  you  about  this  matter,  Allan,"  said  his  father, 
as  he  went  into  the  inner  room. 

"  I  can  tell  you  one  thing,"  said  Dr.  Fenton, 
"  that  there  is  nothing  which  so  blinds  people's 
eyes  to  the  truth  of  things  as  this  assumption, 
that  all  motives  of  action,  however  good  and 
generous  the  deed,  are  low  and  interested.  There 
is  nothing  which  tends  more  to  prevent  any  real 
knowledge  of  men,  and  of  the  world,  than  that 
view  of  life.  For  the  most  part,  especially  in 
the  case  of  a  foolish  boy  like  Gus  Marshall,  it  is 
just  an  affectation  ;  and  too  often  it  is  because  the 
speaker  judges  his  fellow-men  by  himself.  I 
remember  reading  a  magazine  article  once  where 
the  writer  showed  how  mean  and  selfish  and 
foolish  he  had  been  when  a  child,  and  therefore 
drew  the  conclusion  that  all  children  are  incapable 
of  generosity  or  real  affection.  He  showed  one 
thing  very  conclusively,  and  that  was  that  he  had 
not  grown  up  to  be  much  more  intelligent  as  a 
man  than  as  a  child." 

"  I  remember  grandma  being  so  disgusted  with 


58  THE   SILVER   EIPLE. 

that/'  said  Allan.  "  But,  Uncle  Fenton;  does  n't 
it  aggravate  you  to  hear  people  talk  in  that 
way  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Allan.  If  there  is  anything  that  vexes 
me  more  than  another,  it  is  a  habit  of  always 
assigning  low  motives  for  good  deeds ;  and  it  is 
rather  a  besetting  sin  of  our  times.  I  often  wish 
that  some  paper  would  make  it  a  business  to 
chronicle  all  the  good,  unselfish,  heroic  actions 
that  one  hears  of  every  day,  as  carefully  as  the 
newsmen  do  the  murders,  and  scandals,  and  rob- 
beries. Humanity  is  very  mean  sometimes,  and 
very  grand  at  other  times;  but  we  have  one  per- 
fect model  of  what  it  can  be ;  and  trust  me,  we 
shall  never  attain  to  his  likeness  by  despising 
and  thinking  the  worst  of  our  fellow-men,  for 
whom  He  died." 

Here  Mr.  Fitz  Adams  came  out  of  the  inner 
room  with  the  gentleman  with  whom  he  had  been 
conferring. 

"You'll  see  that  it's  done,"  said  the  gentle- 
man. 

"  Yes,  if  it  must  be,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam, 
rather  reluctantly. 

"  It  must,"  said  the  gentleman,  smiling,  and  he 
went  away. 

"  There,  Allan,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  as  the 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  59 

door  closed  on  his  client.  "There  is  a  case  in 
point.  If  I  tell  you  the  story,  don't  repeat  it. 
That  man  has  for  years  been  trying  to  save  money 
to  take  himself  and  his  wife  to  Europe.  They 
are  not  very  rich  ;  and  he  has  two  or  three  times 
had  losses  which  prevented  them  from  going. 
Just  now,  however,  he  thought  that  he  could 
afford  the  journey.  He  had  put  the  sum  laid 
aside  in  certain  investments,  which  are  in  my 
hands,  and  which  could  be  turned  into  money 
directly,  and  they  expected  to  start  next  month. 
But  a  nephew  of  his,  a  good  sort  of  man  enough, 
but  not  very  bright,  has  been  unfortunate  in  his 
business,  and  will  be  utterly  ruined,  unless  he  can 
have  immediate  help.  So  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dale 
have  made  up  their  minds  to  sacrifice  their  trip, 
and  take  the  money,  laid  aside,  to  help  their  rela- 
tion. For  years  they  have  looked  forward  to  this 
journey,  and  gone  over  it  all  in  imagination.  It 
is  a  very  great  sacrifice  to  give  it  up ;  but  they  do 
it  without  a  word  of  complaint.  I  presume  the 
nephew  will  never  know  anything  about  the 
matter." 

"  How  kind  !  "  said  Allan.  "  I  wish  I  could 
just  give  them  the  money,  and  tell  them  to  go 
by  the  next  steamer." 

"  He  would  not  take  it,  if  you  could." 


(JU  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Did  you  try  to  see  if  he  would,  Fitz  ?  "  said 
Dr.  Fenton,  quietly. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam, 
colouring.     "  I  Ve  always  known  about  him." 

"  Law  is  a  very  hardening  sort  of  a  profession," 
said  the  doctor,  with  a  smile.  "  Well,  Allan,  I 
think  you  may  go  home  comforted  a  little  about 
your  fellow-creatures  in  a  general  way." 

"  Father,"  said  Allan,  that  evening.  "  Do  you 
think  it  would  be  right  if  I  were  to  give  Gus 
Marshall  part  of  the  things  Mr.  De  Forest  left 
me?" 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  his  father,  surprised. 

« Why,  Allan ! "  exclaimed  John,  before  his 
brother  could  answer.  "  What  do  you  think  he 
would  do  with  them  ?  He  can  no  more  throw  a 
fly  than  I  can  read  Hebrew." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Allan,  "  I  suppose  he 
thinks  he  should  have  had  something :  and  after 
all,  Mr.  De  Forest  was  his  uncle,  and  not  mine ; 
and  I  was  pretty  short  with  him,  to-day.  I  know 
I  was." 

"  But,  Allan,  Gus  Marshall !  "  said  John. 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  paused,  before  he  answered. 

"  It  is  a  kind  thought,"  he  said,  at  last;  "and 
if  it  were  any  other  boy,  I  think  perhaps  I 
should  tell  you  to  do  it.     But  Gus  never  showed 


THE  SILVER   EIFLE.  61 

the  least  affection  for  his  uncle ;  and  then,  as  John 
says,  those  things  would  be  quite  lost  upon  him. 
Besides,  a  large  sum  comes  to  the  family  from  the 
estate.  Then  our  old  friend  gave  you  the  things 
because  he  knew  you  would  value  and  care  for 
them  ;  and,  perhaps,  it  would  have  been  his  wish 
that  you  should  keep  them.  Your  feeling  in  the 
matter  would  be  quite  thrown  away  upon  Gus." 

"Yes!"  said  John.  "He'd  be  sure  to  find 
some  little  mean  reason  for  it." 

"  So,  on  the  whole,"  said  his  father,  "  perhaps 
you  had  better  not  do  it.  It  is  not  as  if  there 
was  nothing  coming  to  him  from  the  estate ;  and 
I  don't  think  he  would  value  the  gift  as  a  mere 
remembrance  of  his  uncle." 

"  Not  he !  "  said  Everard.  "  I  have  heard  him 
talk  quite  shamefully  about  Mr.  De  Forest.  I 
would  n't  have  much  to  do  with  him,  if  I  were 
you,  boys.  I  've  seen  him  coming  out  of  places 
where  nobody  would  go  that  had  much  respect 
for  his  own  character,  and  going  about  in  very 
bad  company." 

"  1  'm  sure  I  never  want  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  him,"  said  John. 

"JSror  I!"  said  Allan.     "Now  I  think  of  it, 

I  'm  not  sure  but  I  told  him  so." 

"That  was   hardly   worth   while,"    said    his 
G 


62  THE   SILVER  RIFLE. 

father.  "  I  am  rather  sorry  to  hear  that  he  is 
going  up  north,  too ;  but  it  will  be  easy  to  keep 
out  of  his  way." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that/'  said  John,  "  if 
Everard  is  along.  Gus  is  very  anxious  to  be 
intimate  with  him." 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  for  my  aunt  Lily's  sake,"  said 
Everard,  referring  to  his  father's  sister,  Mrs. 
Harold,  who  was  rather  a  fashionable,  and  very 
much  of  a  fine  lady.  "  Aunt  Lily  is  afraid  of 
the  Marshalls.  I  believe  she  ran  away  from 
Saratoga  last  year,  just  to  avoid  them  ;  and  they 
did  persecute  her.  It  was  quite  pathetic  to  hear 
her  tell  the  story." 

"What  did  she  stand  it  for?"  said  John. 
"  Why,  you  know  how  good-natured  she  is ;  and 
she  could  bear  almost  anything  rather  than  be 
rude ;  and  it  is  not  a  mere  hint  that  will  answer 
with  the  Marshall  race.  Uncle  Fitz,  what  a 
miserable  thing  it  is,  that  ambition  to  be  fine 
and  genteel,  and  this  caring  for  nothing  but  just 
amusement ! " 

"  Oh,  wise  young  judge  !  Have  you  just  found 
that  out?"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam.  "A  most 
miserable  ambition  it  is,  indeed :  but  come,  I 
think  we  have  abused  our  neighbours  cpiite 
enough    for    one   night.     Take  pen    and    paper, 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  63 

Everard,  and  make  out  a  list  of  what  we  shall 
want,  and  to-morrow  we  will  set  about  the  pre- 
parations in  real  earnest.  Your  father  leaves 
everything  to  me  with  such  perfect  confidence, 
that  I  want  to  be  sure  and  have  things  as  com- 
fortable for  him  as  I  can,  without  overloading 
ourselves." 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   WOODS. 

niHE  middle  of  the  next  week  saw  Mr.  Fitz 
-*L  Adam,  Dr.  Fenton,  and  the  three  boys,  at 
"  Baker's,"  which  was  then  by  no  means  the 
place  of  resort  it  has  since  become.  In  their 
younger  days,  both  the  lawyer  and  the  clergyman 
had  had  considerable  experience  of  out-door  life, 
and  had  known  what  to  take  on  such  an  expe- 
dition, and  also  what  not  to  take,  which  is  per- 
haps more  important  still.  All  of  the  party  were 
quite  resolved  to  go  into  the  real  wilderness. 

At  that  period  the  hunting  and  fishing  around 
"Baker's"  was  better' than  at  present,  as  the  tourist 
had  not  yet  invaded  the  region  to  any  great  ex- 
tent. The  boys,  however,  felt  that  they  should 
not  be  satisfied  until  they  were  quite  out  of  sight 
of  a  house.  They  longed  to  get  away  from  the 
comfortable  table,  and  the  beds  of  the  little  hotel, 
into  the  actual  wilderness,  where  they  could  build 
their  own  shanty,  make  their  own  fires,  cook  for 

6i 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE,  65 

themselves  the  trout  and  venison  which  they  ex- 
pected to  catch,  and  sleep  in  the  open  air. 

Their  desire  to  get  away  was  shared  by  their 
elders,  and  was  by  no  means  diminished  by  the 
arrival  of  Master  Gus  Marshall,  in  company  with 
two  other  young  "  men"  a  good  deal  older  than 
himself.  The  manners  and  customs  of  these 
young  persons  were  so  exceedingly  distasteful  to 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam  and  the  Doctor,  that,  during  the 
one  day  they  remained  at  the  hotel,  they  avoided 
the  company  of  Gus  and  his  companions  as  much 
as  possible.  But  Gus  was  not  a  person  easy  to 
avoid,  and  he  was  determined,  if  he  could,  to 
strike  up  an  intimacy  with  Everard  Fenton. 
Everard  was  exceedingly  good-natured.  He 
could  not  bear  to  wound  any  one's  feelings  in  the 
slightest  degree.  He  felt  sorry  to  see  a  mere  boy 
like  young  Marshall  on  the  high  road  to  ruin. 
His  companions  were  evidently  making  a  tool  of 
him ;  while  he,  flattered  by  the  attentions  of  those 
whom  he  thought  "  knowing  "  and  "  fashionable 
fellows,"  followed  them  in  any  direction  they 
chose.  They  used  his  things,  and  forgot  to  re- 
turn them ;  they  borrowed  his  money,  and  forgot 
to  pay  it  back ;  and  they  won  it  from  him  at 
cards,  where  he  was  invariably  beaten,  no  matter 
what  the   game;   and   flattered   and  laughed   at 


66  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

him  by  turns,  as  suited  their  purposes  or  incli- 
nation. Gus,  charmed  at  finding  himself  in  such 
"  fashionable  "  society,  and  with  "  sporting-men," 
thought  the  delight  cheaply  purchased  at  any 
expense. 

For  all  the  distinction  which  he  supposed  him- 
self to  have  achieved,  Gus  was  by  no  means  com- 
fortable, either  in  mind  or  body.  He  was  noth- 
ing of  a  sportsman  in  reality.  To  the  great  dis- 
gust of  the  two  Fitz  Adams,  he  had  come  unpro- 
vided with  any  weapon  but  a  huge  fowling-piece, 
fit  for  nothing  but  the  heaviest  "  bay  shooting." 

With  this  gun  he  blazed  away  at  everything, — 
crows,  owls,  small  birds,  and  woodchucks, —  scat- 
tering immense  quantities  of  shot,  but  doing  little 
damage,  as  he  invariably  shut  his  eyes  whenever 
he  fired. 

His  companions  laughed  at  his  want  of  success, 
and  left  him  a  good  deal  to  himself.  The  hotel- 
keeper  overlooked  him ;  the  mosquitoes  bit  him 
savagely ;  the  guides  and  hunters,  with  whom  he 
attempted  conversation,  snubbed  him  unmerci- 
fully, and,  I  regret  to  say,  told  him  so  many  and 
such  wonderful  stories  of  wolves,  bears,  and 
panthers,  that  he  was  almost  afraid  to  go  out  of 
sight  of  the  house. 


THE   SILVER    EIPLE.  67 

A  dozen  times  Gus  wished  himself  back  in  the 
city ;  but  he  dared  not  say  so  to  his  companions, 
and  consoled  himself  in  his  sufferings  by  thinking 
he  was  in  the  same  party  as  Lieutenant  Cameron 
and  Tom  Edmonds.  Lieutenant  Cameron  had 
been  an  officer  in  the  army,  but  had  resigned  his 
commission  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself 
and  the  officers  of  his  regiment,  and  was  now 
said  "  to  live  by  his  wits,"  and  on  an  allowance 
from  his  family,  to  whom  he  was  at  once  a  misery 
and  a  disgrace. 

Tom  Edmonds's  father  was  a  man  of  great 
wealth,  and  a  leader  in  the  sort  of  society  to 
which  the  ambition  of  the  Marshalls  aspired. 
Tom  had  been  expelled  from  Everard's  college; 
but  so  far  from  being  ashamed  of  his  disgrace,  he 
was  wont  to  make  a  boast  of  how  he  had  "  been 
too  much  for  the  college  faculty." 

Mr.  Marshall  knew  perfectly  well  the  character 
of  Messrs.  Edmonds  and  Cameron,  but  he  was 
pleased  to  have  his  boy  associate  with  those  whom 
he  supposed  to  be  fashionable  young  men,  of  what- 
ever style  the  fashion  might  be. 

Mr.  Marshall  was  the  son  of  a  tailor,  in  a  little 
country  village;  so  —  by  a  common  method  of 
self-betrayal  —  he  naturally  looked  down  upon 
"  persons  in  trade,"  and  was  so  exceedingly  aris- 


68  THE    SILVER   EIFLE. 

tocratic  as  to  be  quite  alarming  to  simple-minded 
people. 

The  "aristocratic  manner"  on  which  Gus 
prided  himself  was  entirely  lost  on  the  society  at 
"  Baker's/'  and  the  boy  really  dreaded  going  out 
into  the  woods  and  mountains.  He  had  no  love 
for  the  wild  life  of  the  region ;  he  had  no  eye  for 
natural  beauty,  and  no  skill  with  the  gun  or  the 
rod ;  and  whatever  bait  he  tried,  the  trout  obsti- 
nately refused  to  be  caught.  Poor  Gus  had  had 
an  idea  that  fly-fishing  was  a  genteel  thing  to  do, 
and  had  provided  himself  with  several  surprising 
specimens  of  flies,  selected  without  regard  to  the 
time  of  year  or  the  kind  of  fish  for  which  they 
were  intended.  He  was  utterly  ignorant  of  the 
art,  which  requires  intelligence  and  a  deft  and 
skilful  hand,  and  had  succeeded  in  catching 
nothing  but  himself  and  his  companions.  At 
the  end  of  two  days  there  were  few  parts  of  his 
clothes,  his  hands  or  his  face,  into  which  he  had 
not  stuck  the  hook.  Flies  and  broken  lines 
hanging  upon  trees,  or  floating  on  the  stream, 
attested  his  various  failures.  When  he  had 
utterly  destroyed  three  rods, — two  of  his  own  and 
one  of  his  friend's, — he  gave  up  the  matter  in  de- 
spair, and  contented  himself  with  eating  the  fish 
which  others  caught. 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  69 

The  Fitz  Adam  party  meant  to  start  for  their 
first  camp  at  night ;  and  on  the  evening  of  the 
day  on  which  Gus  arrived,  they  had  gone  to  the 
lower  Saranac,  about  two  miles  from  "  Baker's," 
where  they  intended  to  take  their  boats  and  fol- 
low the  chain  of  lakes.  At  that  day  this  region 
was  unfrequented,  except  by  the  hunter,  and  a 
few  gentlemen  who  cared  too  much  for  its  wild 
glories,  and  its  plentiful  fishing  and  hunting,  to 
advertise  it  in  book  or  newspaper.  It  had  hardly 
been  supposed  possible  that  a  lady  could  make 
her  way  through  the  wilderness,  or  "  camp  out." 

Then  you  might  journey  for  miles,  and  not 
meet  a  canoe,  or  see  a  human  being  but  those  of 
your  own  party,  or  some  wandering  trapper  or 
Indian.  Now  the  case  is  very  different ;  and  some 
people  who  remember  the  Saranac  in  the  old  days, 
think  that  the  wilderness  was  pleasanter  then  than 
now. 

It  was  a  bright  moonlight  night,  and  the  lake 
lay  glittering  and  rippling  with  a  light  breeze 
from  the  north.  The  frosts  had  held  off  wonder- 
fully, and  the  air  was  cool  but  not  chill.  The 
mountains  stood  up  in  blue-black  shadow,  and 
silver  light  hung  here  and  there  with  slow  trail- 
ing wreaths  of  whitening  mist.  The  boys,  how- 
ever, were  too  full  of  high  spirits  and  the  delight- 


70  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

ful  excitement  of  actually  setting  off,  to  be 
much  impressed  by  the  solemn  beauty  of  the 
scene. 

Michael  Heath,  the  guide,  was  skilfully  pack- 
ing the  baggage  in  the  little  canoes,  by  the  light 
of  the  fire  which  John  had  built  on  the  shore, 
partly  because  it  is  the  nature  of  a  boy  to  make  a 
fire  out  of  doors  whenever  he  can,  and  partly  to 
keep  off  the  mosquitoes.  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  and 
the  doctor  were  sitting  together  on  a  fallen  pine, 
chatting  to  each  other,  and  smiling  now  and  then 
at  John  and  Everard,  who  were,  as  boys  say, 
"  skylarking  "  about,  and  making  the  woods  ring 
with  their  laughter  at  everything  and  nothing. 
Sam  Irmelin,  the  boy  who  accompanied  Michael, 
was  feeding  the  fire ;  and  Allan,  who  thought  he 
should  have  time  for  a  cast,  had  put  together  his 
rod,  and  had  flung  out  his  favourite  "white 
miller,"  managing  it  in  a  way  which  had  caused 
Michael  to  remark,  approvingly,  that  he  was  "a 
smart  boy,  and  would  know  something  in  time." 
None  of  the  party  were  greatly  delighted  to  see 
Mr.  Cameron  and  Gus  Marshall  make  their  ap- 
pearance. One  of  Michael's  dogs  ran  forward 
growling  and  barking  at  the  strangers,  while  the 
other,  more  experienced,  kept  his  place  near  the 
lire,  and  only  lifted  his  large  intelligent  eyes  to 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  71 

see  what  his  young  friend  was  making  such  an 
ado  about. 

The  case  was  altered,  however,  when  Gus  gave 
the  advancing  dog  a  heavy  kick,  which  made  him 
howl  piteously.  Old  Sport  sprang  up,  with  erected 
bristles,  and  showing  his  fangs  with  a  savage  snarl, 
darted  forward  to  take  his  friend's  part. 

Michael  called  him  back,  and  he  obeyed,  but 
very  unwillingly,  and  growled  fiercely  as  the  two, 
followed  by  one  of  the  guides  from  the  hotel,  came 
into  the  circle,  lit  up  by  the  fire.  John  and  Ever- 
ard  desisted  from  their  romping ;  and  the  former 
took  up  his  rifle  which  he  had  left  leaning  against 
the  log  beside  his  father. 

Mr.  Cameron,  who  was  heartily  tired  of  his 
companion's  society,  bowed  to  the  two  gentlemen, 
and  remarking  carelessly  to  Gus  that  "  there  was 
not  room  for  three,"  stepped  into  the  canoe  which 
the  guide  unfastened  from  the  bank  and  pushed 
off  into  the  lake. 

Poor  Gus  was  greatly  mortified.  Mr.  Cameron 
was  going  after  deer  in  the  fashion  technically 
known  as  "jack  shooting,"  that  is,  attracting  the 
deer  by  a  light,  and  shooting  at  the  gleam  re- 
flected in  the  creature's  eyes.  Gus  had  not  been 
asked  to  go ;  but  he  had  walked  the  two  miles 
from  the  hotel  in  the  hope  of  an  invitation,  and 


72  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

now  to  be  left  behind  in  that  fashion  was  any- 
thing but  pleasant.  The  walk  had  been  a  very 
uncomfortable  one  for  him,  for  Mr.  Cameron  and 
the  guide,  out  of  sheer  mischief,  had  beguiled  the 
way  with  tales  of  wolves  which  followed  travel- 
lers through  the  woods ;  bears  that  came  out  of 
thickets  and  around  corners,  and,  worst  of  all, 
wily  and  savage  panthers  which  lay  in  wait  on 
trees  ready  to  pounce  from  overhead,  and  able  to 
carry  away  a  man  as  easily  as  a  cat  carries  a 
mouse. 

Gus  had  been  so  alarmed  by  these  tales  that, 
young  man,  as  he  supposed  himself  to  be,  he 
was  just  ready  to  cry,  and  heartily  wished  him- 
self at  home.  No  amount  of  "  style  "  will  con- 
sole that  unhappy  mortal  who  is  clawed  by  a 
panther  or  chased  by  a  bear,  and  of  such  mis- 
fortunes Gus  felt  himself  to  be  in  great  danger. 
He  started  at  every  sound  and  every  crackling 
twig,  saw  a  wild  beast  in  every  stump  and  log, 
and  heard  the  howl  of  the  wolf  or  the  scream  of 
the  panther  in  every  noise.  That,  after  under- 
going all  this,  he  should  be  left  to  wait  by  the 
shore  of  the  lonely  lake,  or  to  make  his  way  back 
through  all  the  dangers  of  the  road,  was  cruel 
indeed. 

He  knew  that  he  was  not  very  welcome  to  the 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  73 

Fitz  Adam  party ;  but  he  was  glad  to  see  them, 
nevertheless,  though  he  trembled  to  think  what 
would  become  of  him  when  their  boats  should 
push  off,  and  he  be  left  to  the  mercies  of  the 
panthers. 

Poor  Gus's  excited  imagination  represented  to 
him  the  said  panthers  as  plentiful  as  grasshoppers 
in  a  pasture ;  and  he  felt  equally  afraid  to  wait  for 
Mr.  Cameron  or  go  back  without  him. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  make  your  cur  behave  himself," 
he  said,  snappishly,  to  Michael.  "  I  '11  shoot  him 
if  he  runs  at  me  again  that  way." 

"  Humph  !  "  said  Michael.  "  I  don't  own  no 
cur  that  I  know  of,  and  if  I  did,  I  guess  he 
would  n't  be  in  very  much  danger." 

"  Those  low-bred  dogs  are  always  snarling  and 
snapping,"  said  Gus,  in  a  tone  of  contempt;  for 
he  was  in  a  greatly  irritated  state  of  mind,  partly 
from  the  fear  he  had  undergone  and  partly  from 
the  slight  put  upon  him  by  his  friend. 

""Wow  that  just  shows  how  much  you  know," 
said  Michael,  calmly.  "  There  is  n't  a  better  bred 
dog  in  the  country  than  old  Sport,  and  if  you 
knew  much  about  dogs,  you  'd  see  it.  But  then 
nobody  expects  boys  from  the  city  to  know  any- 
thing." 
7 


?4  THE   SILVER   RIFLE, 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Heath,"  said  Everard,  lift- 
ing his  cap  and  bowing  politely. 

"  Well,  you're  not  just  exactly  a  boy ;  and 
your  cousins  there  have  been  taught  something ; 
but  there 's  an  odds  in  folks  in  the  city  as  well  as 
here,  is  n't  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  certainly  is,"  said  Everard ;  and 
Michael,  who  was  a  man  of  few  words,  turned 
back  to  his  work,  taking  no  further  notice  of 
Gus. 

Everard,  who  felt  sorry  for  the  boy,  addressed 
some  kind  words  to  him ;  but  he  got  very  short 
answers.  Gus  was  watching  Allan,  who  had 
landed  a  fine  trout,  rather  to  his  own  surprise,  as 
angling  from  the  shore  is  not  always  very  success- 
ful in  lake  fishing. 

"  What  bait  have  you  got  ?  "  asked  Gus. 

"  No  bait  at  all,"  said  Allan,  good-naturedly, 
taking  his  tone  from  his  cousin.  "  It 's  only  this 
white  miller." 

"White  miller?  What?  Those  things  that 
fly  round  the  candle?  I  shouldn't  think  you 
could  catch  enough  of  them." 

"  I  did  n't  catch  it,"  said  Allan,  laughing.  "  It 
was  made.  It's  only  good  for  night  fishing. 
Some  people  say  trout  don't  care  what  they  bite 
at,  and  will  jump  at  anything ;  and  maybe  they 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  75 

don't  in  England ;  but  they  know  more  here ;  any- 
way, I  think  so." 

"  I  don't  care  much  for  bothering  with  flies," 
said  Gus,  loftily. 

The  boys  smiled  slightly,  but  Everard  re- 
marked : 

"  I  set  out  to  learn  the  art  under  Allan  and 
my  uncle,  but  as  I  discovered  that  it  would  take 
all  the  time  I  should  have  in  the  woods  to  find 
out  how  much  I  did  not  know,  I  concluded  that 
I  preferred  fish  to  science,  and  am  content  to 
catch  trout,  if  I  can,  with  an  inglorious  worm,  or 
a  grasshopper,  or  even  to  eat  those  caught  by 
some  one  else." 

"  It 's  so  much  the  nicest  way  of  fishing,"  said 
Allan,  who  had  in  vain  tried  to  make  Everard  as 
enthusiastic  as  himself.  "  I  can't  bear  to  handle 
those  cold  slippery  worms,  and  stick  hooks  into 
the  little  squirmy  wretches.     Ugh  !  " 

"  I  suppose  you  think  the  trout  like  it  ?  "  said 
Everard. 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  they  do ;  but  they  are 
always  eating  each  other;  and  then  I  don't  let 
them  choke  to  death  on  the  land.  I  think 
it's  mean.  I  kill  them  as  soon  as  I  get  them 
ashore." 

"Well,"  remarked  Everard,  "the  truth  is,  I 


76  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

was  so  much  impressed  in  my  childhood  with  the 
story  of  the  bad  boy  who  would  go  fishing,  and 
was  afterward,  in  poetical  justice,  caught  on  a 
meat-hook  himself,  that  I  have  never  felt  quite 
easy  in  my  mind  about  the  matter,  and  feel  almost 
sure  that  if  I  were  to  catch  too  many  fish,  I  should 
be  caught  on  a  meat-hook  too.  I  see  you  have 
your  rod,  Gus ;  why  don't  you  try  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  will,"  said  Gus ;  and  he  baited  a 
hook  almost  big  enough  to  catch  a  halibut,  and 
standing  where  his  shadow  fell  directly  upon  the 
water,  flung  the  bait  into  the  lake  with  a  tre- 
mendous splash. 

Allan  looked  reproachfully  at  his  cousin,  and 
reeled  up  his  line  and  unjointed  his  rod. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  have  another  bite,"  he 
remarked,  dryly. 

"  Have  you  had  any  luck  with  your  wonderful 
rifle  ?  "  asked  Gus  of  John,  with  a  half  sneer. 

"  I  've  not  been  out  with  it  yet,"  said  John, 
good  -  naturedly  enough.  "  Why,  Gus,  you  '11 
never  get  anything,  thrashing  round  in  the  water 
like  that;  and  what  are  you  after  with  such  a 
hook  —  sharks  ?  " 

"  Opinions  differ  about  such  things,"  said  Gus, 
with  an  air  of  experience.  "  Do  you  think  a 
smaller  one  would  do  better  ?  "  he  asked,  care- 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  77 

lessly,  longing  to  catch  a  fish,  and  ashamed  to 
confess  that  he  did  not  know  how. 

"  I  say,  Gus,  let  me  fix  it  for  you,"  said  John. 
"  I  '11  give  you  a  hook ! "  and  John  took  out 
one  of  his  own,  and  with  Gus's  consent  fastened 
it  in  the  place  of  the  big  one.  "  There,  now,  bait 
that,  and  stand  where  your  shadow  won't  fall 
right  on  the  water,  and  keep  still ;  and  maybe 
you  '11  get  some  fishing  while  you  are  waiting  for 
Mr.  Cameron  to  come  back." 

"  Are  you  going  right  away  ?  "  said  Gus,  terri- 
fied at  the  thought  of  being  left  alone. 

"  Yes,  just  as  soon  as  the  boats  are  ready.  I 
say,  Michael,  can  we  help  you?  I  'in  in  a  hurry 
to  start." 

Michael  stood  up  and  faced  the  company,  as 
one  who  intends  to  make  a  speech. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  solemnly,  "  I  regret  to 
say — "  here  every  one  started,  and  looked  anxious, 
fearing  some  serious  accident.  "  I  regret  to  say — 
that  the  black  pepper  has  been  forgotten." 

The  boys  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam.  « I  con- 
cluded that  the  boats  were  all  in  holes,  or  that 
several  bears  were  coming  down  upon  us.  Is  the 
black  pepper  essential  ?  " 

"  Well,  squire," —  for  so  Michael  had  entitled 

7  * 


78  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam, — "  that  is  the  question.  I  don't 
believe  in  taking  too  much  into  the  woods ;  but 
then  again  I  don't  believe  in  too  little ;  and  pep- 
per and  salt  is  good  with  fish.  Now  the  question 
is,  whether  we  shall  go  without  it,  or  whether 
Sam  here  shall  run  back  to  the  hotel  and  get  it. 
He  can  be  back  before  long ;  and  there  is  n't  any 
such  mighty  hurry." 

The  boys  would  have  gone  without  pepper,  or 
anything  else,  so  anxious  were  they  to  set  off; 
but  their  elders  decided  to  send  back  Sam,  not 
sorry  to  spend  a  little  longer  time  by  the  lake 
shore. 

"  I  think  I  '11  go  back  with  Sam,"  said  Gus, 
hastily  rolling  up  his  line,  and  glad  to  have  com- 
pany through  the  woods.  Moreover,  it  had  just 
occurred  to  him  that  he  should  like  to  have  a 
little  private  talk  with  the  boy  who  was  to  be  the 
companion  of  the  two  Fitz  Adams  in  the  wilder- 
ness. 

The  politeness  of  the  young  people  had  made 
no  impression  upon  Gus.  The  boy  was  in  an 
evil  frame  of  mind.  He  was  provoked  that  John 
and  Allan  should  have  seen  him  slighted  by  Mr. 
Cameron,  of  whose  intimacy  with  himself  he  had 
often  boasted;  he  was  envious  of  them  as  the 
owners  of  his  uncle's  rod  and  rifle;  and  he  had 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  79 

worked  himself  into  the  idea  that  he  had  been 
greatly  abused  by  his  relative's  will. 

He  bade  the  boys  a  sullen  good-night ;  replied 
only  with  a  nod  to  the  polite  good-by  of  the  two 
elder  gentlemen,  and  set  off  on  his  way  back  to 
the  hotel,  with  some  difficulty  keeping  up  with 
Sam,  who  was  a  rapid  walker. 

"  Poor  Gus ! "  said  compassionate  Everard. 
"  It  was  mean  in  Cameron  to  go  off  and  leave 
him  so.  He  was  half  frightened  to  death  at  the 
idea  of  staying  here  alone." 

"  He  thinks  the  woods  are  all  full  of  panthers !" 
said  Allan,  laughing.  "  The  men  have  told  him 
such  a  heap  of  stories.  There  are  none  about 
here,  are  there,  Michael  ?  " 

"  Not  very  often ! "  replied  the  cautious  old 
guide.  "  I  won't  say  but  I  have  shot  a  painter 
within  a  mile  of  this  place ;  but  they  ain't  quite 
as  common  as  blackberries ;  and  half  the  time 
they  are  more  afraid  of  you  than  you  are  of  them, 
unless  they  are  uncommon  fierce ;  or  it's  a  she  one 
with  young  ones.  Mr.  De  Forest  he's  shot 
more  'n  one  with  that  very  rifle.  I  espect  you  'd 
like  to  do  the  same  thing,  young  gentleman." 

"  Of  course  I  should,"  said  John,  with  a  glance 
of  affection  at  his  rifle. 

"  Well,  I  give  you  fair  warning.     You  won't 


80  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

get  a  chance  if  I  can  help  it.  They  are  not  nice 
customers  when  they  are  in  a  corner;  not  the 
kind  of  thing  for  boys  to  go  for." 

"  Don't  you  think  I  could  hit  one  ? "  asked 
John,  a  little  mortified,  and  fervently  hoping  that 
a  "  painter  "  might  come  in  his  way. 

"  I  don't  say  but  you  could  ;  but  you  see  I  'd 
be  afraid  he  might  hit  you  first.  You  come  here 
three  or  four  years  from  now,  and  keep  up  your 
shooting,"  said  Michael,  consolingly,  "and  I 
don't  say  but  I  might  scare  up  one  for  you  and 
your  brother  among  the  rocks." 

"  When  and  how  was  it  that  Mr.  De  Forest 
shot  the  panthers  ?  "  asked  John,  as  Michael  lit 
his  pipe,  and  sat  down  on  the  shore  to  wait  for 
Sam. 

"  Oh,  once,  when  I  was  with  him,  he  shot  one ; 
and  then  another  time,  when  he  was  alone,  he 
killed  another." 

"  But  tell  us  about  it,  please,"  persisted  Allan. 

"Why,  that's  all  there  is  to  tell,"  replied 
Michael,  who,  as  he  expressed  it,  was  "  no  great 
hand  to  talk."  "One  was  up  a  tree,  and  the 
other  one  on  a  rock  in  the  country  just  north  of 
Nodoneyo, —  Mount  Seward,  most  of  the  folks 
call  it  now ;  and  he  saw  them,  and  shot  them." 

"  Were  they  big  ones  ?  " 


THE  SILVER  EIFLE.  81 

"  The  first  one  was  pretty  big,  and  the  other 
one  not  so  big  as  I  Ve  seen  'em." 

"  Did  you  ever  kill  one  yourself?  "  questioned 
John. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Michael,  patiently. 

"More  than  one?" 

"  Well,  yes ;  quite  a  little  pocketful  of  them, 
first  and  last." 

"  What  a  nice  pocketful !  "  said  John. 

" But,  Michael,  do  tell  us  how  you  did  it?" 

"  Why,  I  took  my  gun,  and  shot  at  them,  and 
hit  them  ;  and  it  killed  'em." 

"  At  the  first  shot  ?  " 

"  No,  not  always." 

"  Did  they  ever  hurt  you  ?  " 

"  One  give  me  a  kind  of  scratch  once ;  but  it 
did  n't  amount  to  much." 

"  Oh,  how  was  it  ?  "  said  the  three  boys,  eagerly. 

"  With  its  claws." 

"  Come,  boys,"  said  Dr.  Fenton,  "  let  Michael 
smoke  his  pipe  in  peace.  Allan,  you'll  have 
time  before  Sam  comes  back  with  the  pepper. 
Try  another  cast,  and  we  shall  have  your  fish  for 
supper.  I  '11  come  with  you  ; "  and  the  doctor 
took  up  his  rod  and  went  off  with  his  nephew 
along  the  shore,  followed  by  John. 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  and  Everard  remained  behind. 
F 


82  THE   SILVER  EIFLE. 

"  You  must  not  let  the  boys  trouble  you/'  said 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam  to  Michael.  "  They  are  quite 
wild  for  stories  of  all  sorts ;  and  I  don't  know  but 
ours  is  rather  a  talking  family." 

"  Bless  you,  squire,  they  don't  bother  me,"  said 
Michael,  good-naturedly.  "  I  have  n't  the  gift  to 
make  a  long  story  out  of  nothing,  like  some  of 
the  men.  They  '11  reel  'em  off  for  you  by  the 
yard.  I  hope  to  show  those  boys  of  yours  some 
sport.  They  're  just  the  kind  to  bring  into  the 
woods ;  and  I  like  'em  partly  for  the  old  gentle- 
man's sake  and  part  for  their  own.  They  're  un- 
common smart  with  their  guns  and  tackle  for  their 
age." 

"  I  am  glad  you  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam, 
pleased.  "They  used  to  go  about  a  good  deal 
with  Mr.  De  Forest." 

"  I  've  heard  him  speak  of  them.  I  tell  you, 
squire,  I  miss  the  old  gentleman.  We  've  been 
together  a  great  deal.  He  was  an  educated  man, 
and  I  was  n't ;  but  we  kind  of  suited  one  another." 

"  He  has  often  spoken  to  me  about  you,  and 
your  kindness  to  him." 

"  Well,  I  wonder  what  it  was.  He  was  always 
just  so  to  me.  Those  boys  of  yours  have  got 
something  of  his  ways;  so  have  you,  sir.  Did 
he  leave  any  relations  ?  " 


THE  SILVEE   EIFLE.  83 

"  None  nearer  than  a  niece,  a  Mrs.  Marshall. 
That  young  man  who  went  back  with  Sam  is  her 
son." 

"  You  don't  say  so !  I  would  n't  have  thought 
there  was  a  bit  of  De  Forest  in  him,"  said  Michael, 
with  emphasis. 

"  There  is  n't  much,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 

"  He 's  only  a  boy !  "  said  Everard.  "  Maybe 
he  '11  do  better  as  he  gets  older." 

"  He 's  not  on  the  way  to  it,  the  company  he 
keeps,"  said  Michael.  "  That  Mr.  Cameron  is  a 
good  shot  enough ;  but  I  should  n't  want  a  boy  of 
mine  round  with  him,  nor  that  other  young  fel- 
low. I  'm  glad  the  old  gentleman  left  the  silver 
rifle  to  your  son,  and  not  to  him." 

"  Perhaps  some  people  would  have  thought  it 
rather  imprudent  to  allow  such  a  boy  as  John  to 
bring  so  costly  a  piece  into  the  woods,"  remarked 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam  ;  "  but  John  values  it  as  he  does 
the  apple  of  his  eye,  and  knows  pretty  well  how 
to  handle  it." 

"  I  see  he  does,"  said  Michael,  approvingly. 
"  He  does  n't  play  any  silly,  fool-hardy  tricks  as 
most  boys  do, — pointing  at  folks,  and  such  non- 
sense. The  moonlight  looks  kind  of  nice  on  the 
lake,  don't  it,  sir,"  said  Michael  to  Everard,  fear- 
ing, with  the  natural  courtesy  which  belonged  to 


84  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

him,  that  the  young  gentleman  might  feel  him- 
self left  out  of  the  conversation. 

"  Oh,  it 's  beautiful  here,"  said  Everard,  who 
had  a  keen  feeling  and  real  love  for  natural 
beauty.  "  Look,  Uncle  Fitz,  where  the  ripple 
breaks  up  against  the  shore,  just  showing  a  silver 
edge."  And  in  the  delight  of  his  heart  and  his 
youth,  Everard,  in  his  sweet  tenor  voice,  began 
to  sing  "  The  Shining  Shore,"  then  just  beginning 
to  be  heard. 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  who  could  sing  well,  joined 
in,  and  the  music  rang  out  sweetly  over  the  lake. 
Then  they  passed  on  to  the  "  Gloria  in  Excelsis 
Deo."  Everard  belonged  to  a  musical  society, 
whose  members  were  fonder  of  the  old  schools 
of  music  than  of  any  new  ones.  Mr.  Fitz  Adam 
could  not  often  find  time  to  attend  the  meetings 
of  the  Union,  as  he  would  have  liked ;  but  he  was 
a  sort  of  honorary  member.  He  and  Everard 
were  fond  of  singing  together,  and  often  did  so 
in  the  family  meetings.  They  did  not  murder 
this  most  beautiful  of  all  chants  by  uniting  it  to 
any  opera  air,  or  by  ruining  words  and  sense  for 
the  sake  of  sound.  They  sang  it  as  all  sacred 
music  ought  to  be  sung, — with  reverent  gladness 
of  heart;  and  the  old  guide  listened  with  pleasure, 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  85 

though  he  did  not  understand  the  Latin  words 
which  they  had  happened  to  use. 

"  May  I  ask  what  that  is,  sir  ? "  he  asked,  as 
the  last  note  died  away.  "  It  rB  a  hymn,  is  n't  it  ? 
though  I  don't  understand  the  language." 

"  Sing  it  in  English,  Everard,"  said  his  uncle. 
Everard  willingly  complied.  "  We  praise  thee, 
we  bless  thee,  we  worship  thee,  we  glorify  thee, 
we  give  thanks  to  thee  for  thy  great  glory." 

"  I  like  that,  sir,"  said  Michael,  after  a  few 
moments  of  silence,  when  the  music  was  ended. 
"  I  don't  know  but  it 's  as  good  a  place  here  to 
sing  that  as  it  would  be  in  a  church.  When  a 
man  has  time  to  sit  down  and  think,  the  moon 
and  the  mountains  make  it  seem  kind  of  solemn," 
concluded  the  old  guide,  who  had  an  appreciation 
of  natural  beauty,  which  is,  by  no  means,  com- 
mon to  those  who  spend  their  lives  out  of  doors 
and  among  wild  scenery. 

Just  then,  however,  John  and  Allan  rushed 
upon  the  scene,  eagerly  telling  the  story  of  how 
their  uncle  had  gone  out  on  a  log  "  ever  so  far," 
and  thrown  his  line,  and  how  "  no  end  of  a  big 
fish  "  had  taken  the  hook,  and  how  the  said  fish 
had  been  successfully  landed,  and  proved  to  be 
all  of  two  pounds  and  a  half  in  weight.     "  To 


86  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

them  enter "  the  Rev.  Dr.  Fenton,  carrying  the 
fish,  and  not  unelated  with  his  own  unexpected 
success.  The  "  solemnity  "  of  the  moon  and  the 
mountains  to  which  Michael  had  referred  was 
quite  put  to  flight  by  the  capture  of  the  big  trout. 
The  chatter  of  the  boys,  and  their  "  fighting  the 
battle  over  again  "  for  their  father's  benefit,  fully 
occupied  the  time,  till  Michael  began  to  wonder 
what  had  become  of  Sam.  Just  as  he  was  grow- 
ing impatient,  however,  the  boy  made  his  ap- 
pearance. 

"  What  kept  you  so  long  ? "  said  Michael, 
rather  shortly. 

"  That  young  gentleman,"  replied  Sam,  laugh- 
ing, but  rather  embarrassed.  "  He  could  n't  keep 
up ;  and  he  was  afraid  to  walk  behind,  for  fear 
something  would  catch  him ;  and  he  got  entirely 
out  of  breath,  and  I  had  to  wait  for  him.  He 's 
safe  at  ( Baker's'  now.  I  guess  he  isn't  much 
of  a  hand  for  the  woods." 

"  Well,  now,  gentlemen,"  said  Michael,  "  if 
you  are  ready,  we  '11  start.     Come,  dogs." 

The  party  embarked,  to  the  great  delight  of 
the  boys,  and  was  soon  gliding  swiftly  onward 
toward  the  head  of  the  lower  Saranac. 

The  fire  which  they  had  left  on  the  shore 
gradually   died    out,  and    silence   settled  on  the 


THE  SILVER   EIFLE.  87 

place  lately  so  full  of  life  and  bustle.  On  their 
way  the  party  met  Mr.  Cameron  and  his  guide, 
who  were  coming  back  successful,  having  in  tow 
a  fine  deer. 

"  Ah,  you  are  off,  are  you,  Mr.  Fitz  Adam," 
said  the  young  man,  courteously  enough.  "  I 
wish  you  good  luck,  I  am  sure." 

"  Thank  you.  You  seem  to  have  had  it  your- 
self." 

"  Pretty  fair,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Cameron,  carelessly. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  Gus  Marshall  ?  "  he 
added,  laughing,  and  addressing  Dr.  Fenton. 
"  We  were  obliged  to  send  to  the  hotel ;  and  he 
went  back  with  the  boy.  Really,  Mr.  Cameron, 
it  was  hardly  fair  to  leave  him  there." 

"  If  you  were  as  tired  of  that  boy  as  I  am,  Dr. 
Fenton,"  said  the  young  man,  in  a  tone  of  ex- 
cuse, "  you  would  hardly  blame  me.  Gentlemen, 
won't  you  turn  in  to  the  shore,  and  divide  my 
venison  with  me  ?  " 

John,  who  was  in  the  boat  with  his  father, 
pinched  him  violently,  in  sign  of  disapproval. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  smiling ; 
"  but  my  boy  here  would  hardly  forgive  me,  if  I 
ate  any  venison  that  was  not  of  our  own  shoot- 
ing ;  and  we  have  been  delayed  already." 

"  At  least  take  these  to  add  to  your  supper,  if 


88  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

the  young  gentlemen  should  have  bad  luck,"  said 
Mr.  Cameron,  lifting  a  brace  of  ducks  from  the 
bottom  of  the  canoe,  "  Come,  doctor,"  he  add- 
ed, leaning  over  the  side  of  his  boat,  and  speak- 
ing in  a  low  voice,  "you  might  let  me  do  as 
much  as  that  for  you,  for  the  sake  of  old  times." 

The  doctor,  who  remembered  the  pale,  dissi- 
pated-looking young  man  as  a  bright-faced  little 
boy,  was  a  good  deal  touched. 

"Surely  I  will,  and  thank  you,  Lewis,"  he 
said,  bringing  the  canoe,  which  he  was  paddling 
himself,  alongside  of  Mr.  Cameron's.  "  Come 
and  see  me,  will  you  not,  when  you  come  back  to 
town,  and  we  will  talk  over  those  old  times.  I 
am  glad  you  remember  them." 

"  Too  late,  sir,"  said  the  young  man,  half  scorn- 
fully, half  sadly.  "  Good-night,  and  a  pleasant 
journey  to  you,  gentlemen.  Give  way,"  and  the 
canoe  shot  off  over  the  lake. 

"  Poor  fellow ! "  said  Everard,  looking  after 
him.  "  He  has  some  flashes  of  good  in  him  yet, 
has  n't  he,  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Everard,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  the  trouble 
is,  they  are  all  flashes  in  the  pan." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IN   THE   WILDEKNESS. 

IT  was  the  second  day  after  the  Fitz  Adam 
party  had  left  the  northern  end  of  the  lower 
Saranac.  They  had  had  a  delightful  journey ; 
the  weather  having  been  the  very  perfection  of 
September. 

The  boys  had  enjoyed  every  minute  of  the 
time ;  the  voyage  in  the  canoes ;  the  night  spent 
in  the  open  air ;  the  feast  partaken  of  by  the  camp- 
fire  ;  even  the  "  carry,"  usually  thought  so  tedious, 
had  been  matters  of  delight  to  John  and  Allan. 

John  had  achieved  one  object  of  his  ambition, 
and  shot  a  deer,  furnishing  the  first  venison  for 
the  party,  to  his  own  unspeakable  satisfaction. 
Allan  had  caught  trout  innumerable,  some  of 
them  two  and  a  few  three  pounders ;  and  even 
Everard,  who  cared  more  for  sketching  and  run- 
ning about  the  woods  than  he  did  for  hunting  or 
fishing,  had  contributed  several  partridges  to  the 
camp  feasts. 

8*  89 


90  TUE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

The  doctor  and  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  began  to  feel 
themselves  growing  young  again.  I  fear  that 
many  people,  who  entertain  very  high  ideas  of 
the  "  dignity  proper  for  a  clergyman,"  would 
have  been  quite  shocked  at  the  way  the  doctor 
played  with  the  boys,  climbed  rocks,  built  fires, 
paddled  the  canoe,  and  delighted  in  his  own 
success  with  the  rod.  The  brothers-in-law,  each 
overworked  in  his  profession,  enjoyed  their  va- 
cation as  only  busy  men  can,  and  gave  themselves 
up  to  the  spirit  of  their  life  in  the  woods  with  a 
certain  boyish  simplicity  and,  if  I  may  use  the 
word,  "  friskiness,"  which  I  think  is  rather  a 
peculiarity  of  Americans  when  they  surrender 
themselves  to  "  having  a  good  time." 

They  had  reached  the  night  before  a  point  near 
the  northern  end  of  the  upper  Saranac,  where 
they  intended  to  make  their  permanent  camp. 
They  had  built  their  shanties  with  rather  more 
care  than  usual,  as  they  were  to  serve  for  a  home 
for  some  time. 

Michael  was  just  then  engaged  in  covering  the 
roof  of  one  with  strips  of  bark,  to  keep  off  the 
rain  if  it  should  fall ;  and  the  boys  under  his 
direction  were  doing  the  same  thing  for  the  other, 
taking  great  pains.  They  delighted  to  "  help  " 
Michael   whenever    he   would    let    them.     Such, 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  91 

however,  was  not  always  the  case ;  the  old  guide 
often  devising  some  good-natured  excuse  to  send 
the  young  gentlemen  out  of  the  way  on  such  oc- 
casions. 

Michael,  however,  was  fond  of  the  boys,  and 
took  a  great  deal  of  pains  to  please  them,  com- 
plying with  all  their  wishes,  and  going  wherever 
they  asked  him,  like  a  respectable  old  deerhound 
surrendering  himself  to  the  guidance  of  two  frisky, 
half-grown  terriers. 

The  boys'  more  frequent  companion,  however, 
was  Sam  Irmelin. 

Sam  was  nearly  nineteen,  and  tall  and  strong 
of  his  age.  The  Fitz  Adam  party  had  overtaken 
him  first  on  the  ride  from  Keeseville  to  "  Baker's." 
He  had  set  out  to  walk  the  whole  distance;  and 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  pleased  with  the  boy's  looks,  had 
offered  him  a  seat  in  one  of  their  two  wagons, 
which  Sam  had  accepted  with  thanks.  He  had 
made  himself  very  agreeable  during  the  drive, 
giving  intelligent  answers  to  all  questions  ad- 
dressed to  him,  and  showing  a  readiness  to  please, 
and  a  knowledge  of  the  woods,  which  recom- 
mended him  to  the  whole  party,  especially  to  the 
boys.  He  had  an  agreeable,  frank  manner,  equally 
removed  from  subserviency  or  undue  familiarity; 


92  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

and  when  he  had  hinted  a  wish  to  join  the  party, 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam  had  felt  very  much  inclined  to 
engage  his  services,  rather  than  those  of  an  older 
guide.  Michael,  on  being  questioned  about  him, 
had  said  that  he  "  knew  no  harm  of  the  boy," 
which,  from  so  cautious  a  person,  might  be  con- 
sidered as  positive  praise. 

John,  Allan,  and  Everard  had  been  eager  to 
have  Sam  go  with  them ;  and  as  there  seemed  no 
reason  why  he  should  not,  he  had  been  engaged 
to  accompany  the  party  into  the  wilderness. 

No  one  had  seen  any  reason  to  regret  the  ar- 
rangement. Sam  was  always  willing  to  do  any- 
thing, for  anybody,  at  any  time  of  the  day  or 
night.  He  made  himself  very  useful  to  Michael, 
showed  a  great  talent  for  cookery,  cleaned  the 
guns  for  the  two  elder  gentlemen,  and  for  Allan 
and  Everard,  when  the  two  cousins  were  too  tired 
or  too  indolent  to  do  it  themselves.  He  would 
have  done  the  same  for  John,  had  that  young 
gentleman  been  willing  to  trust  his  beloved  rifle 
to  any  other  hands  than  his  own.  Sam  was  never 
heard  to  use  any  bad  language.  He  could  sing 
a  good  song,  had  innumerable  stories  to  tell  of 
adventures  in  hunting,  fishing,  and  wandering 
through  the  woods  and  mountains.  In  short,  he 
was  a  companion  entirely  to  the  boys'  taste,  and 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  93 

the  three  cousins  became  really  attached  to  their 
guide.  If  he  flattered  them,  it  was  done  so  care- 
fully that  they  did  not  know  it  •  and  John,  Allan, 
and  Everard  looked  upon  Sam  as  quite  a  model 
of  excellence,  and  a  hero  in  his  own  line  of  life. 

Sam,  of  course,  found  many  advantages  in  his 
association  with  the  young  gentlemen,  who  were 
quite  willing  to  share  with  him  all  their  own  pos- 
sessions ;  but  he  was  so  obliging,  so  good  tem- 
pered, and  so  willing  to  do  much  more  than  fell 
within  the  contract  of  his  duties  as  guide,  that  the 
boys  perhaps  received  as  much  in  return  as  they 
gave.  Dr.  Fenton  and  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  were 
much  pleased  with  the  boy,  and  resolved  to  make 
him  a  handsome  present,  over  and  above  his  wages, 
on  getting  back  to  "Baker's." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  to-day  ? "  asked 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam  of  his  brother-in-law. 

The  doctor  was  lying  on  the  grass  watching 
Michael  and  the  boys  at  work,  or  glancing  up  at 
the  blue  sky  through  the  flickering  branches 
overhead. 

"  I  don't  think  that  I  want  to  do  anything  just 
now,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  want  just  to  keep 
quiet,  and  enjoy  the  delightful  idea  that  the  thing 
is  possible.  I  wish  to  realize  that  I  shall  not  be 
interrupted  by  any  persevering  young  man  who 


94  THE   SILVER  EIFLE. 

wants  subscribers  for  some  book  in  which  I  am 
expected  to  take  an  interest,  because  it  is  on  some 
religious  subject  which  the  author  knows  nothing 
about.  I  want  to  enjoy,  to  the  full,  the  delight- 
ful thought  that  I  shall  not  be  invaded  by  some 
man,  or,  worse  still,  some  woman,  armed  with  a 
paper  signed  by  some  one  wholly  unknown  to  me, 
and  certifying  that  the  wonderful  virtues  of  the 
bearer  are  only  equalled  by  his  or  her  misfor- 
tunes, and  that  he  or  she  must  be  ruined  and 
reduced  to  despair  if  not  immediately  furnished 
with  one  dollar." 

"And  all  of  them,"  said  Everard,  "appealing 
to  the  Rev.  Dr.  Fenton's  well-known  philanthro- 
phy,  etc.  If  you  are  weak  -  minded  enough 
to  give  to  one,  you  immediately  have  a  swarm 
come  down  on  you ;  and  if  you  refuse,  they  make 
pathetic  reflections  on  the  hard  hearts  of  this 
world,  and  you  never  can  help  feeling  a  little 
mean  to  say  '  No,'  though  you  know  perfectly 
well  you  ought  to." 

"  Yes ;  for  there  is  about  one  chance  in  fifty 
that  there  may  be  something  in  the  story ;  and 
you  always  have  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that 
you  may  possibly  have  denied  yourself  to  a  case 
of  real  distress." 

"And   then   if    there     has   been   an    address 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  95 

given,"  said  Everard,  "father  always  sends  me 
to  look  for  it;  and  I  never  found  the  man  or 
woman  yet." 

"  As  if  you  were  not  more  ready  to  go  than  he 
was  to  send  you/'  said  his  uncle.  "  Do  I  not 
remember  your  being  so  moved  by  the  tears 
of  old  Mrs.  Rooney,  and  so  shocked  at  your 
mother's  doubting  her  pathetic  story  about  her 
dying  husband  and  starving  children,  that  nothing 
would  do  but  you  must  set  out  at  eleven  o'clock 
at  night  to  find  them,  making  me  go  with  you 
through  a  snow-storm,  after  I  had  been  in  court 
all  day." 

"  Do  him  justice,  Fitz.  He  did  n't  make  you 
go,"  observed  the  doctor. 

"  Well,  I  could  not  let  him  go  alone  into  such 
a  den,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam ;  "  so  it  was  all  the 
same  thing ;  and  never  a  Mrs.  Rooney  did  we 
find  where  she  gave  us  the  address,  but  stumbled 
by  accident  upon  her  and  the  dying  husband 
entertaining  a  party  of  friends  with  roast  turkey 
and  whiskey." 

"  And  father's  got  no  referee  cases  to  hear,  and 
no  young  lawyers  to  keep  in  order,"  said  Allan. 
"  My  !  How  I  have  heard  them  go  on  sometimes 
when  I  've  been  in  the  office,  —  about  whether  it 


96  THE  6ILVER   RIFLE. 

was  the  right  thing  for  a  witness  to  answer  a 
question." 

"And  you,  I  suppose,  think  you  have  no 
lessons/'  said  his  father.  "  In  short,  we  have  all 
got  a  play  spell ;  and  I  hope  we  shall  all  improve 
it  to  the  best  of  our  ability.  What  do  you  want, 
boys  ?  " 

"  Oh,  father,"  said  Allan,  "  we  do  want  some- 
thing ;  but  I  don't  know  whether  you  will  let  us 
or  not." 

"Then  it  must  be  something  very  outrageous," 
said  Dr.  Fenton. 

"  Now,  uncle ;  just  as  if  we  always  had  our  own 
way." 

Dr.  Fenton's  elder  sister,  Mrs.  Barker,  had  once 
given  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  quite  a  lecture  on  the 
"  over-indulgence  "  which  he  showed  to  his  boys ; 
and  it  had  ever  since  been  a  standing  joke  in  the 
family  to  represent  John  and  Allan  as  spoiled 
children. 

"  When,  since  we  came  out  here,  have  you  not 
had  it  ?  '  I  shall  by  and  by  really  feel  it  my  duty 
to  remonstrate,' "  said  the  doctor,  quoting  Mrs. 
Barker.  "  You  do  not  think,  Fitz,  that  what  you 
call  the  pretty  playful  ways  of  innocent  child- 
hood will  seem  very  different  at  fifty  or  sixty  ?  " 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  John.    "Father 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  97 

has  a  pretty  good  chance  to  see  how  they  '11  seem, 
Uncle  Fenton,  if  he  only  looks  at  you." 

"  Did  you  make  a  remark,  Johnny  ?  "  said  the 
doctor,  looking  up  through  the  trees. 

"  She  was  n't  down  on  "us  a  bit  more  than  she 
was  on  Everard,"  said  Allan;  "and  it  was  all 
because  we  harnessed  our  dog  to  the  tea-tray  and 
drew  Lois  round  the  back-yard  on  the  snow,  and 
made  believe  we  were  Arctic  explorers,  and  Ever- 
ard and  Jeanette  were  Esquimaux;  and  Ever- 
ard pretended  to  be  an  old  conjuring-man,  and 
got  up  on  the  dog-kennel,  for  the  top  of  the 
lodge,  and  tooted  on  Joe's  tin  trumpet,  and  made 
believe  to  call  the  spirits  as  they  do,  and  he  only 
called  her." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  was  as  much  surprised  as  the 
poor  Mandan  medicine  man,  who  was  trying  to 
raise  the  rain,  and  saw  the  first  steamboat  coming 
up  the  river." 

'  "  Dear !  what  a  fuss  she  did  make ! "  said 
John  ;  "  and  she  said  we  were  acting  a  lie,  and 
that  we  should  all  do  all  sorts  of  awful  things 
when  we  grew  up,  if  we  were  let  to  go  on  like 
that  now ;  and  Jeanette  cried,  and  little  Lois  was 
so  mad,  and  Aunt  Caroline  came  out  and  took 
our  part." 

"  I  've  never  seen  her  that  she  has  n't  spoken 
9  G 


98  THE    SILVER    EIFLE. 

about  it,"  said  Everard,  "and  that  was  three 
years  ago.  Well,  I  know  I  ought  not  to  talk  so, 
father;   I  won't  again,  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  I  believe  I  am  quite  as  much  to  blame  as 
you  are  in  the  matter,"  said  the  doctor.  "  It 
must  be  confessed  your  aunt  Lavinia  is  peculiar; 
but  here,  while  you  have  been  fighting  your  bat- 
tles with  her  over  again,  we  have  not  heard 
whether  these  two  children  wish  to  set  off  for 
the  summit  of  Tahawus  all  alone  by  themselves, 
or  want  to  go  into  the  Dismal  Wilderness  for  a 
panther,  or  down  to  the  bottom  of  the  lake  after 
trout." 

"  Now,  Uncle  Fenton,  it  is  nothing  of  the 
kind ;  we  only  want  to  take  Sam,  and  go  up  to 
the  top  of  that  mountain  by  the  lake,  and  see 
what  we  can  see.  Sam  says  you  can  see  seven- 
teen different  lakes  from  there." 

"What's  the  name  of  that  summit?"  asked 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam  of  Sam. 

"  Well,  it  has  n't  any  name  in  particular,  sir ; 
most  of  the  hills  has  n't." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Michael?"  asked  Mr.  Fitz 
Adam,  turning  to  the  elder  guide.  "  Would  it 
be  a  safe  expedition  for  the  boys  to  undertake  by 
themselves  ?  I  was  going  with  you  up  the  lake 
for  a  deer  myself;  but  I  suppose  we  might  take 


THE   SILVEK   KIFLE.  99 

the  dogs,  and  perhaps  find  one  in  that  direc- 
tion ?  " 

"  Well,  no,  sir  ;  not  very  likely.  You  see  the 
deer  like  these  meadows  along  the  lake  and 
woods  lower  down ;  and  that  mountain  is  all 
rocks,  and  precipices,  and  such.  There's  some 
pretty  tough  climbing ;  but  Sam  's  a  safe  kind  of 
boy  for  his  age,  and  your  sons  understand  them- 
selves pretty  well.  I  don't  see  why  they  might 
not  go  there  as  well  as  anywhere  else." 

"  There,  father !  "  said  Allan,  eagerly.  "  Now 
you  see  it's  all  right;  and  just  think  how  we 
run  about  the  hills  round  the  Hickories  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  the  gravel  hills  of  the  southern  tier 
are  rather  different  climbing  from  these  sharp- 
topped  rocky  mountains.  However,  if  Michael 
thinks  it 's  safe,  I  've  no  objection  to  your  trying 
it ;  though  I  don't  feel  very  much  disposed  to  go 
up  a  mountain  myself  this  morning.  Allan,  do 
you  think  your  ankle  will  stand  it?" 

This  weak  ankle  of  Allan's  was  a  sore  point 
in  more  ways  than  one.  The  summer  before  the 
two  brothers  had  had  a  passionate  quarrel,  almost 
their  only  one  in  their  lives.  In  the  affray,  John 
had  thrown  his  brother  down  a  steep  bank,  and  not 
knowing  that  he  was  hurt,  had  run  away  and  left 
him,  helpless  and  alone,  with  a  broken  arm  and 


100  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

a  sprained  ankle.  A  storm  had  come  up,  and 
Allan  had  lain  for  some  time  unable  to  move, 
and  exposed  to  a  drenching  rain.  A  long  illness 
had  been  the  consequence.  The  broken  arm  had 
recovered  itself  sooner  than  the  ankle,  which  had 
been  badly  twisted,  and  for  several  weeks  Allan 
had  not  been  allowed  to  take  a  step.  Even  now 
it  would  sometimes  pain  him  if  he  over-walked ; 
but  Allan  would  never  complain  if  he  could 
possibly  help  it,  for  John's  self-reproach  had 
been  extreme ;  and  he  never  could  think  of  what 
he  had  done  in  his  anger,  without  a  pang  of 
remorse.  As  his  father  spoke,  a  shadow  fell  on 
John's  face,  and  he  turned  away. 

"  Oh  !  yes,  sir,"  said  Allan,  hastily.  "  Indeed, 
it  has  n't  pained  me  a  bit,  oh,  not  this  long  time. 
We  may  go  then  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  smiling  ;  "  only 
I  'd  like  to  know  when  one  may  expect  to  see  you 
home." 

"  Not  much  before  night,  sir,"  said  Sam.  "  It 's 
quite  a  roundabout  way  to  get  to  the  top  of  that 
mountain,  and  some  considerable  climbing ;  and 
we  've  got  to  come  down  a<rain." 

"  And  that  will  be  the  worst  of  it,  sir,"  said 
Michael.  "  Now,  Sam,  don't  you  go  cutting  up 
any  shines,  and  getting  the  young  gentlemen  into 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  101 

an j  scrapes ;  and  look  where  you  are  going  and 
what  you  are  about." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Sam,  who  was  always  very 
respectful  to  his  senior.  "  I  certainly  will :  I  've 
been  up  there  myself  once,  or  I  would  not  try  to 
take  them." 

"If  I  were  you,  John,"  said  Allan,  with  a 
sudden  and  surprising  spasm  of  prudence,  "I 
wouldn't  take  my  rifle.  You  might  break  it 
or  lose  it,  tumbling  around  among  the  rocks. 
Borrow  Uncle  Fenton's." 

"  Well ! "  exclaimed  the  doctor ;  "  if  I  ever ! " 
"  But  yours  is  a  new  one,  you  know,  uncle," 
said  Allan,  seriously,  and  then  joining  in  the 
laugh  which  the  words  raised.  "  I  mean  if  it 
was  spoiled,  father  would  get  you  another ;  but 
he  could  n't  replace  John's." 

Here  Everard  rose,  and,  solemnly  walking 
around  his  cousin,  surveyed  him  on  all  sides. 

"  Is  this  our  boy  ?  "  he  asked,  seriously.  "  Allan 
showing  prudence!  Allan  afraid  of  spoiling 
something !  Impossible !  He  has  been  changed^ 
and  this  is  the  being  who  was  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years  old,  and  never  saw  soap  made  in  an 
egg-shell ! " 

"  Something  is  going  to  happen  to  that  child," 

remarked    Mr.    Fits   Adam.     "He  showed  the 
9* 


102  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

same  good  sense  about  his  best  rod.  I  was  rather 
alarmed  then  ;  but  a  second  attack  is  indeed  cal- 
culated to  awaken  all  a  parent's  anxiety.  Don't 
you  think  he  had  better  go  to  bed?" 

"Now,  father,"  said  Allan.  "But,  really,  I 
mean  it." 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  remarked  Michael,  "  I  think 
he  is  quite  right.  They  '11  want  all  their  hands 
for  climbing  •  and  if  you  don't  mind,  I  do  think 
it  would  be  better  to  take  something  not  quite  so 
valuable  as  the  silver  rifle.  There's  places  on 
that  mountain,  where,  if  you  dropped  a  gun,  it 
would  be  hard  work  to  get  it  again." 

"  But  why  should  we  drop  it,  sir,"  said  Sam, 
looking  a  little  annoyed. 

"You  mightn't,  and  then  again  you  might. 
It  would  n't  matter  much  to  you,  but  it  would 
make  a  sight  of  difference  to  John." 

"  So  it  would,"  said  John,  who  had  at  first 
looked  rather  dissatisfied  at  the  thought  of  leav- 
ing his  beloved  rifle  behind.  "  If  you  don't 
mind,  Uncle  Fenton,  and  will  lend  me  yours, 
I  '11  be  very  careful  of  it ;  and  if  you  are  not 
going  out,  you  won't  want  it." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  and  I  have 
another  gun  if  any  of  Gus  Marshall's  panthers 
should  come  down  on  us." 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  103 

"Well,  get  it  and  come  along,"  said  Allan,  in 
a  hurry,  as  usual.  "  Everard,  won't  you  come, 
too?" 

"  No,  my  young  friends,"  said  Everard,  assum- 
ing the  elder.  "  When  you  have  arrived  at  my 
age,  you  will  have  discovered  that  the  mountain- 
tops,  which  look  so  fair  from  the  valley,  are  often 
barren  rocks  at  the  summit, —  that  hope  is  but  too 
frequently  the  guide  to  anxiety  and  despair ;  and 
that  —  that  —  in  short,  it  does  not  pay,"  con- 
cluded the  young  gentleman,  his  eloquence  giving 
out. 

"  Soaring  on  eagle's  wings,  and  coming  down 
on  the  wood-pile,"  said  Allan.  "  I  suppose  you 
want  to  stay  at  home,  and  fix  up  your  pictures?" 

"  I  confess  I  do ;  also,  I  want  to  meditate,  and 
store  up  wisdom  for  those  days  when  I  shall  be 
your  '  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend.' " 

"  Do,"  said  John ;  "  and  put  it  up  in  the  tin-pail, 
and  screw  the  cover  on,  when  you  've  got  a  good 
parcel  of  it.  Good-by,  father !  We  '11  be  back 
to  supper,  and  maybe  we  '11  bring  some  birds : 
perhaps  we  may  shoot  a  bear ;  who  knows  ?  " 

"  If  you  see  one,  and  he  's  disposed  to  let  you 
alone,  you  'd  better  let  him  alone,"  remarked 
Michael.  "  Good-morning  to  you,  young  gentle- 
men.   I  hope  you  '11  have  a  nice  time." 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Now,  Allan/'  said  John,  in  a  low  voice  to 
his  brother,  as  they  walked  down  to  the  boat, 
"  does  your  ankle  hurt  you  ?  Because  if  it  does, 
don't  go ;  please  don't !  " 

"  Honestly,  no,"  returned  Allan,  earnestly ; 
"  I  have  n't  felt  it  this  long  while." 

u  I  shall  never  forgive  myself  for  that,"  said 
John,  with  some  bitterness. 

"  Now,  don't  be  going  back  on  that  business, 
John,  don't ! "  said  Allan,  imperatively.  "  Just 
as  if  it  was  not  quite  as  much  my  fault  as  yours, 
and  more  too !     All  ready,  Sam  ?  " 

"  Yes :  your  uncle's  rifle  won't  carry  as  true 
as  the  other  one.  You  were  very  anxious  about 
your  brother's  property." 

Sam  smiled  as  he  spoke ;  but  his  manner  and 
tone  were  not  quite  the  same  as  usual,  and  the 
boys  looked  up  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Oh,  it 's  all  right,  of  course,"  said  Sam,  care- 
lessly, "  and  well  thought  of  too.  I  might  have 
remembered  it  myself,  only  I  don't  want  you  to 
think  that  we  have  any  such  dreadful  places  to 
go  through ;  but  Michael  he  is  so  awful  careful. 
Will  you  try  to  paddle,  either  of  you  ?  If  you 
tried  a  few  weeks  longer,  you  'd  do  it  about  as 
well  as  your  uncle." 

Allan  took  up  the  paddle,  but  dropped  it  again 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE,  105 

in  a  few  moments,  after  all  but  overturning  the 
light  bark  canoe* 

"  I  can't  get  the  hang  of  it,"  he  said,  a  little 
mortified ;  "  and  I  shall  spill  us  all.  How  do  you 
manage  it  so  nicely?"  he  asked,  rather  vexed 
with  himself,  as  the  canoe  went  steadily  onward 
under  Sam's  even  swift  strokes. 

"  Oh,  it 's  just  the  way  of  the  thing  :  keep  a 
steady  stroke,  and  give  a  little  turn  to  your  wrist 
—  so  —  when  you  lift.  You  'd  soon  learn.  Dr. 
Fenton  he  knows  how.  Where  did  he  find  it 
out  ?  I  did  n't  know  folks  in  the  city  could  do 
such  things  ?  " 

"  Uncle  was  not  brought  up  in  the  city ;  and 
after  he  was  first  ordained,  he  went  to  the  West 
as  a  missionary ;  and  he  learned  to  manage  a  canoe 
from  the  Indians,"  said  Allan.  "  He  knows  sev- 
eral things." 

"  He  's  a  real  nice  gentleman,"  said  Sam.  "  I 
like  him  and  your  father  first-rate.  There 's  some 
of  the  people  that  come  up  here,  I  can't  bear. 
Michael  he  won't  go  with  any  one  he  don't  like ; 
but  then  he  can  afford  to  be  independent.  There 
were  some  gentlemen  over  from  Canada  last  year, 
and  they  offered  him  any  money  to  go  with  them 
to  Racket  River  ;  but  he  would  n't." 

"Why  not?" 


106  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Oh,  he  did  n't  like  their  ways.  They  were 
too  stuck  up  to  suit  his  notions  :  he  said  they  were 
not  gentlemen  ;  and  he  did  n't  want  to  mix  him- 
self up  with  them.     I  went,  though." 

"Did  you  have  a  good  time?"  asked  John. 

"  No,  sir.  They  paid  me,  and  all  that ;  but  they 
did  n't  know  how  to  treat  a  fellow.  I  went,  and 
old  George  Flint ;  and  they  used  to  make  George 
mad,  because  they  were  always  talking  about 
American  wild  animals  being  cowardly ;  and  it 
sounded  kind  of  aggravating.  The  bears  they 
said  have  n't  any  fight  in  them,  and  were  cowardly 
brutes,  that  would  run  if  you  shook  a  stick  at 
them;  and  the  same  with  the  panthers.  Well, 
once,  one  of  them  that  had  talked  the  most  was 
out  in  the  woods  with  George.  George  he  climbed 
up  a  rock  and  got  out  of  sight  of  the  young  man, 
and  all  of  a  sudden  he  heard  a  terrible  noise 
down  under  the  rock.  So  George  peeped  over, 
and  what  did  he  see  but  this  young  gentleman 
upon  a  sapling,  holding  on  for  life ;  and  an  old 
she-bear  raving  round  below  and  trying  to  tear 
the  tree  down;  for,  you  see,  it  was  too  little  for 
her  to  climb,  because  she  couldn't  hug  it.  He 
dropped  his  gun ;  and  he  was  in  a  bad  fix,  sure 
enough.  When  he  saw  George,  he  screamed  out 
to  him  to  shoot." 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  107 

"'  Shake  a  stick  at  her,  sir/  says  George,  as 
cool  as  could  be.     '  Shake  a  stick  at  her.'  " 

"Served  him  right/'  said  the  two  boys,  un- 
mercifully.    "  What  became  of  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  George  he  killed  the  bear,  of  course ; 
but  it 's  got  to  be  a  kind  of  byword  round  here 
among  the  men,  if  anybody  talks  big  and  pre- 
tends not  to  be  afraid  of  anything.  I  haven't 
seen  that  young  gentleman  round  the  woods  this 
summer.  There,  we  '11  land  here :  and  follow  that 
slope  that  runs  round  the  shoulder  of  the  moun- 
tain. You  could  n't  go  straight  up  —  not  unless 
you  had  wings." 

It  was  noon  before  the  three  boys  stood  on  the 
summit  of  the  nameless  mountain.  They  had 
had  a  toilsome  but  most  delightful  walk  up 
through  fragrant  birch  and  maple  and  hemlock 
woods,  changing  to  hemlock  alone  as  they  rose 
higher,  and  then  emerging  on  the  bare  rocky 
summit,  where  the  huge  stones  lay  scattered  as 
though  flung  down  from  the  sky,  split  and 
cracked  by  the  frost  and  storms  of  centuries,  and 
spotted  with  gray,  green,  and  blackened  moss, 
and  lichen.  They  had  climbed  from  one  ledge 
to  another,  now  and  then  following  the  course  of 
a  stream,  a  brook  hastening  down 

"  To  play  around  its  mother  mountain's  feet." 


108  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

They  had  scrambled  over  rocks  and  fallen  off 
from  them,  and  on  them  clambered  over  heaps  of 
fallen  logs  and  tangled  briers,  pulled  one  another 
up  and  down,  laughing  and  chattering  at  first, 
but  growing  silent  as  the  way  became  harder. 
When  they  finally  came  out  on  the  topmost  sum- 
mit, they  were  glad  to  throw  themselves  down 
and  gather  breath,  even  before  giving  a  hurrah,  or 
looking  at  the  wide  wild  landscape  spread  out 
before  them.  John  was  the  first  to  spring  up, 
and  fire  his  gun  as  a  signal  to  his  uncle  and 
Everard,  who,  as  he  knew,  would  be  watching 
him  from  the  camp ;  and  then  his  companions 
joined  him  in  three  ringing  cheers,  postponing 
the  view  to  the  dear  delight  of  making  a  noise. 

"  Well,  this  was  worth  a  scramble ! "  said 
Allan,  at  last.     "  Oh  !  what  a  place !  " 

The  lake  lay  stretched  at  their  feet,  a  shining, 
clear  expanse,  hemmed  in  by  its  forests  and  moun- 
tain walls.  To  the  north  lay  a  sea  of  wild  hills 
and  mountains,  bathed  in  golden  sun  and  sailing 
blue-cloud  shadows.  Among  them  shone  the 
silver  glitter  of  their  lonely  lakes.  To  the  south, 
the  peaks  rose  higher  and  wilder,  until  they  were 
crowned  by  the  summit  of  Mount  Seward,  tower- 
ing gray  and  barren  over  a  wilderness  of  woods 
and  waters. 


THE  SILVER   SIFLE.  109 

Boys  at  the  age  of  John  and  Allan  are  not 
often  very  susceptible  to  natural  beauty,  regard- 
ing "  all  out-doors  "  rather  a  place  available  for 
climbing,  nutting,  hunting,  and  fishing,  than  with 
any  view  to  the  picturesque.  But  the  education 
of  the  two  brothers,  their  habit  of  companionship 
with  Mr.  De  Forest  and  their  father,  had  in 
some  measure  opened  their  eyes  to  the  beauty  of 
this  world.  For  a  wonder,  they  did  not  instantly 
begin  to  chatter,  but  stood  in  silence,  gazing  on 
the  landscape  before  them  with  that  mixture  of 
delight  and  awe  which  is,  perhaps,  as  keen  a 
pleasure  as  can  be  felt  by  those  who  are  capable 
of  such  an  experience. 

"  John,"  said  Allan,  "  don't  you  see  now  what 
that  means,  '  the  strength  of  the  hills '  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Look  here,  Allan  ;  if  anything  was  to 
happen  to  drive  us  out  of  the  settled  country,  as  the 
Huguenots  and  the  Waldenses  were  driven  from 
France,  this  would  n't  be  a  bad  place  to  come," 
concluded  John,  whose  Huguenot  St.  Valery 
blood  was  stirring  within  him.  "  These  hills 
are  not  the  Alps,  to  be  sure ;  but  it  would  be  a 
bad  lookout  for  an  army  to  follow  people  that 
did  n't  choose  to  be  followed  round  these  regions." 

"  It  makes  me  think  of  grandma's  stories  of 
our  own  people  that  came  over  from  France  in 
10 


110  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

the  persecuting  times.  I'm  uncommonly  glad 
they  did.  I  think  I  never  saw  anything  quite 
so  beautiful  as  this  in  my  life.  Just  see  how  the 
shadows  sail  over  the  water  !  " 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Sam,  who  did  not  at  all 
understand  the  boys'  enthusiasm ;  "I  wonder 
that  you,  being  used  to  see  a  settled  country,  and 
nice  farms  all  cleared  up  and  in  order,  and  all  the 
fine  things  in  the  cities,  should  like  to  look  at 
such  a  rough  place  as  this." 

"  Why,  that 's  the  very  beauty  of  it,"  said 
Allan,  laughing.  "  John,  take  care,  old  fellow  ! 
Don't  you  go  too  near  the  edge,"  he  added,  as  his 
brother  advanced  to  the  brink  of  the  precipice, 
which  sank  down  a  sheer  descent  of  four  hun- 
dred feet  to  a  mass  of  loose  rock  and  earth  below. 

"No,  don't  you,"  said  Sam.  "Take  care!" 
he  shouted,  but  too  late.  The  stone  on  which  the 
boy  had  stood  gave  way  with  his  weight,  and 
plunged  with  a  dull  heavy  sound  into  the  ravine 
below.  Allan  uttered  a  wild  cry  of  grief  and 
horror,  and  flung  himself  on  the  ground ;  for  he 
thought  nothing  but  that  his  brother  had  fallen 
the  whole  distance  and  been  dashed  to  pieces  on 
the  rocks  beneath.  Pale  and  trembling,  Sam  ad- 
vanced cautiously  to  the  edge  and  looked  over. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  he  cried.     "  He 's  safe  !  " 


€>  Silfarr  Btflf 


'Hurra,  hecried;  he  is  safe!' 


p.  110. 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  Ill 

Allan  sprang  up,  almost  overcome  by  the 
shock  and  the  sudden  relief. 

"  Where  ?  How  can  he  be  ?  "  he  asked,  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot,  and  making  a  vain 
attempt  to  steady  his  nerves. 

"He's  caught  in  a  tree,  and  holding  on. 
Come  here,  but  take  care.  The  rock  don't  hang 
over  here,  so  there 's  no  danger,  if  you  look  out 
for  yourself.  Hold  on,  John,"  he  shouted,  in  an 
encouraging  tone.     "  You  are  safe  now." 

John  was  indeed  safe,  in  so  far  that  he  was  yet 
in  the  land  of  the  living ;  but  otherwise  he  was 
in  great  peril.  The  overhanging  stone  on  which 
he  had  carelessly  stepped  without  noticing  the 
wide  crack  behind  him,  being  heavier,  had  of 
course  fallen  faster  than  himself.  It  had 
crashed  through  without  demolishing  the  wide- 
spread branches  of  the  projecting  hemlock,  which 
had  intercepted  John's  fall,  and  which  he  had 
clutched  in  desperation.  He  had  managed  with 
the  instinct  of  self-preservation  to  swing  him- 
self astride  of  a  tolerably  stout  limb,  and, 
blind  and  dizzy  with  the  fall,  had  but  just 
sense  enough  left  to  hold  to  his  insecure  perch. 
The  tree  projected  from  a  little  rocky  shelf 
about  ten  feet  below  where  the  two  boys  were 
standing.     The    rock    hardly  afforded   foothold 


112  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

for  a  bird;  and  Sam  saw  at  once  that  it  would  be 
a  matter  of  serious  difficulty  to  rescue  the  boy 
from  his  perilous  position. 

"  We  '11  soon  have  him  up,"  he  said,  cheerfully, 
to  Allan,  wishing  to  encourage  both  the  boys, 
and  knowing  how  much  depended  on  the  state 
of  their  nerves.  "  Look  up,  John,"  he  called 
aloud.     "  Can  you  hear  me  ?     Are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  John,  speaking  faintly,  but  begin- 
ning to  recover  himself  in  some  degree  at  the 
sight  of  his  two  companions  and  the  sound  of 
their  voices. 

"  You  hold  on  tight,  and  don't  move  about, 
and  don't  look  down  !  "  said  Sam.  "  I  '11  go  and 
get  a  pole,  and  have  you  up.  Our  guns  are  not 
long  enough  to  reach  you." 

"  Oh,  if  we  only  had  a  rope ! "  said  Allan. 
"  Sam,  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  must  go  down  the  hill  and  cut  a  good  stout 
pole,"  said  Sam ;  "  and  I  may  be  gone  a  minute  or 
two.  Now  look  here,  Allan,  your  brother's  life 
depends  on  your  keeping  your  wits  about  you  a 
good  deal.  You  sit  down  here,  where  he  can  see 
you ;  but  don't  you  go  nearer  the  edge  till  I  come 
back.  Speak  to  him  now  and  then,  and  kind 
of  encourage  him.  Do  you  see?  Because 
there 's  no  fear  but  what  I  can  help  him  now ; 


THE  SILVER  RIFLE.  113 

but  if  he  loses  his  head,  he'll  fall.  Do  you 
understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Allan,  making  an  effort  to  com- 
pose himself,  and  succeeding  in  some  degree. 
"  Go,  Sam ;  but,  oh,  be  quick." 

"  No  fear.  I  '11  be  back  in  a  minute  or  two, 
John,"  he  called  aloud,  in  a  cheery  voice.  "  Keep 
a  good  heart,  and  sit  still.  Just  think  you  are 
sitting  on  top  of  a  fence,  and  don't  look 
down,  and  there 's  no  danger,"  and  Sam  sped 
down  the  hill,  bounding  from  rock  to  rock  like  a 
deer. 

"  You  take  care,  Allan ! "  called  John,  who 
was  beginning  to  recover  his  presence  of  mind. 
"  Don't  you  fall  down,  too !  " 

"No  danger.  This  is  the  solid  rock.  That 
old  stone  you  stood  on  was  loose.  I  hope  it 's 
cracked  all  to  bits,"  said  Allan,  quite  spitefully. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  is.  It  could  stand  such  a 
fall  better  than  I  could.  You  thought  I  was 
gone,  did  n't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Oh,  John,  it  was  horrible !  Thank 
God,  you  are  in  the  land  of  the  living ! " 

"  We  ought  to  thank  him ! "  said  John,  very 

earnestly.     "  I  believe  I  did,  when  I  first  found 

I  was  alive.     Don't  worry,  Allan.      It's  just  as 

easy  sitting  here  as  it  is  on  the  bar  at  the  gym- 

10*  H 


114  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

nasium,  only  it 's  a  little  higher,  if  only  the  limb 
don't  break.     I  wish  I  was  on  the  trunk." 

"  Don't  try  to  move  till  Sam  comes  back,"  said 
Allan,  alarmed. 

"  I  don't  mean  to ;  but  if  I  was  once  at  the 
root  of  the  tree,  and  had  a  pole,  I  could  scramble 
up  easily.  I  only  hope  they  can't  see  us  from 
camp  with  their  glasses." 

"  I  don't  think  they  can.  I  'm  sure  I  hope 
not.  It  would  be  a  little  too  interesting.  You 
are  just  like  that  fellow  in  Anne  of  Geierstein, 
that  the  mountain  tumbled  down  with,  only 
there  's  no  young  lady  here." 

"  No,  and  I  'm  glad  of  it.  Do  I  look  very 
badly  scared  ?  " 

"  No,  not  now." 

"  Well,  I  feel  so,"  said  John,  honestly ;  "  but 
I  'm  not  going  to  give  up  to  it.  I  tell  you  what 
it  is,  adventures  are  a  great  deal  pleasanter  to  read 
about  than  they  are  to  have." 

"  So  it  seems.  I  can't  take  my  eyes  off  from 
you.  It  seems  almost  as  if  you  had  come  back 
from  the  dead.     Oh,  here  comes  Sam." 

Sam  just  then  came  in  sight  below,  bearing  over 
his  shoulder  a  stout  sapling,  the  branches  of  which 
he  had  trimmed  away  with  his  knife,  leaving  the 
spikes  of  two  of  the  largest  at  one  end.     It  was 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  115 

not  so  easy  to  come  up  the  hill  as  it  had  been  to 
go  down,  and  with  all  the  haste  Sam  could  make, 
it  was  two  or  three  minutes  before  he  stood  beside 
Allan  on  the  rocky  summit. 

"All  right!"  he  said,  cheerfully,  to  the  boys. 
"  Now,  Allan,  I  'm  going  to  give  the  forked  end 
of  this  to  him  to  hold,  and  let  him  work  his  way 
along  carefully  till  he  gets  to  the  trunk.  It  is  n't 
more  than  a  foot,  I'm  thankful  to  say,"  said 
Sam,  who  feared  greatly  that  the  limb  would 
break.  "  I  want  you,  Allan,  to  hold  me,  so 's  to 
keep  me  from  going  over,  if  there  should  be  any 
sudden  pull.  Do  you  understand  ?  So :  so  as  to 
make  it  safe,  and  yet  not  hinder." 

"I  see,"  said  Allan,  obeying  directions  in  a 
way  that  did  him  credit,  though  his  heart  beat 
hard,  and  there  was  a  ringing  in  his  ears. 

"  Now,  you  see,  John,"  said  Sam,  cautiously 
extending  the  pole,  "  the  danger  in  this  matter 
is  about  that  limb.  You  hold  on  fast  to  the  pole, 
and  work  your  way  along  careful  to  the  trunk. 
I  dare  say  you  've  done  the  like  up  in  a  cherry- 
tree." 

"  I  see,"  said  John,  whose  gymnasium  training 
stood  him  in  good  stead. 

Resolutely  he  bent  his  will  to  the  one  effort  of 
reaching  the  trunk,  trying  to  forget  the  depth 


116  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

below  and  the  awful  possibilities  of  a  fall.  He 
had  all  but  reached  the  main  stem,  when  he  felt 
the  bough  bend  beneath  him ;  with  one  hasty 
movement  he  flung  himself  forward  on  the  trunk, 
and  at  that  instant  the  limb  broke  with  a  loud 
snap,  and  whirling  round  and  round  in  the  air 
was  dashed  on  the  rocks  below.  John  lost  his 
hold  of  the  pole,  grew  pale,  and  closed  his 
eyes. 

"  All  right !  "  called  Sam,  cheerfully.  -  "  You 
did  n't  go  with  it  you  know ;  a  miss  is  as  good  as 
a  mile.  You  are  as  safe  now  as  if  you  were  sit- 
ting before  the  fire  in  the  camp." 

John  did  not  feel  so  by  any  means ;  but, 
ashamed  that  he  should  seem  so  much  moved 
before  Sam,  he  collected  himself  once  more,  and 
said  in  a  rather  faint  but  steady  voice  : 

"  What 's  to  be  done  next  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  get  to  the  root  ?  There  is  a  little 
shelf  there  you  can  stand  upon." 

John  did  so,  though  with  some  difficulty. 
Allan  watched  his  progress  in  breathless  sus- 
pense. 

"  It 's  just  like  climbing  a  tree  anywhere  else, 
if  you  only  think  so,"  said  Sam.  "  There  you 
are ;  all  right  now.  I  '11  put  the  pole  down  to 
you.     Try  that  little  rock  just  above  you,  and 


THE  SILVEK  EIFLE.  117 

see  if  it  holds.  Sure  it  holds  ?  Very  well :  keep 
tight  hold  of  the  pole,  and  get  your  foot  on  that, 
and  then  I  can  reach  you." 

John  obeyed  the  directions  given,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  was  safe  beside  his  brother,  who  held 
him  so  tight  as  nearly  to  deprive  him  of  what 
little  breath  he  had  left. 

"  Oh,  John ! "  he  said,  and  then,  to  his  great 
annoyance,  Allan  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears, 
and  sobbed  like  a  child. 

John  sat  down  on  a  stone,  and  leaned  his  head 
on  a  rock  behind  him. 

"  Why,  Allan ! "  he  said,  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  It 's  all  over  now.  Sam,  you  '11  think  we  are 
no  better  than  a  pair  of  babies.     I  was  scared." 

"  I  don't  wonder,"  said  Sam,  who  was  a  good 
deal  moved  himself.  "  Thank  the  Lord,  you  're 
safe." 

"  I  hope  I  do,"  said  John  ;  "  and  I  thank  you, 
too.  It 's  your  doing,  Sam,"  he  continued,  hold- 
ing out  his  hand ;  "  and  we  won't  forget  it  in  a 
hurry,  will  we,  Allan  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  !  I  am  sure  I  never  could  have 
got  him  up  alone ;  and  you  were  so  cool,  too.  Oh, 
Sam,  what  should  we  have  done  without  you  ?  " 

Sam  received  the  thanks  and  praises  of  the  two 
boys  with  great  embarrassment. 


118  THE   SILVEE    RIFLE. 

"  It  was  no  more  than  any  one  would  do,"  he 
said,  looking  down  and  coloring  ;  "  and  it  was 
my  carelessness  letting  you  step  on  that  stone,  so 
near  the  edge," 

"  Just  as  if  you  were  engaged  to  follow  me 
round  like  a  nurse  after  a  child,"  said  John.  "  I 
might  have  looked  myself." 

Allan  dashed  away  his  tears,  and  tried  to  com- 
pose himself. 

"  You  '11  think  I  'm  a  perfect  baby,"  he  said ; 
"  but  it  was  so  horrible,  to  think  he  had  fallen 
down  there.  I  never  could  have  gone  back  to 
father  without  him.''" 

"  I  don't  wonder  you  feel  a  good  deal  shaken," 
said  Sam.  "Anybody  might.  If  he'd  been 
killed,  I  never  would  have  dared  to  show  myself 
to  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  or  Michael.  I'd  have  run 
away,  and  quit  the  country.  Don't  you  want  to 
come  down  into  the  woods  and  eat  something? 
The  wind  begins  to  blow  pretty  cold." 

The  beys,  whose  delight  in  the  view  had  been 
quite  overcome  by  what  they  had  gone  through, 
did  not  feel  inclined  to  stay  longer  on  the  sum- 
mit, and  began  their  descent  of  the  mountain. 
They  soon  re-entered  the  woods,  where  the  air 
felt  warm  and  still,  after  the  keen  breeze  which 
had   begun   to   range   about    the   more   exposed 


THE   SILVEE   ElFLE.  119 

summit.  Sitting  down  by  a  clear,  bubbling 
spring,  they  ate  the  luncheon  which  they  had 
brought  with  them,  and  felt  greatly  refreshed. 

Boys,  for  the  most  part,  are  made  of  very 
elastic  material.  They  had  been  greatly  moved 
by  their  adventure.  It  had  been  terrible  while 
it  lasted.  John  was  sincerely  grateful  to  Provi- 
dence for  his  escape  from  a  dreadful  death,  and 
Allan  was  very  thankful  to  have  his  brother 
again  by  his  side.  But  it  was  all  safely  over,  and 
the  young  gentlemen  began  to  feel  as  though  it 
was  rather  a  distinction,  than  otherwise,  to  have 
been  concerned  in  anything  so  interesting.  Then 
the  woods  and  the  hills  were  all  around  them,  and 
the  sweet  inspiriting  mountain  air  blew  away  the 
last  cloud  of  their  recent  trouble.  In  short,  they 
were  boys  full  of  health  and  spirits,  and  not  half 
an  hour  after  they  had  finished  their  luncheon, 
they  were  chattering  away  as  though  nothing  had 
occurred,  and  making  the  woods  ring  with  their 
shouts  and  laughter. 

"  I  wish  we  had  n't  been  in  such  a  hurry  to 
come  down,"  said  John  to  Sam.  "  I  wanted  to 
ask  you  the  names  of  some  of  those  hills  and 
lakes  we  could  see  from  the  top." 

"  Most  of  them  have  n't  got  any  name,"  said 
Sam.     "  But  if  you  want  another  lookout,  I  can 


120  THE  SILVER  RIFLE. 

show  you  a  place  a  rod  or  two  from  here  where 
you  can  see  a  good  deal." 

The  boys  followed  Sam  among  the  trees  and 
rocks  for  a  little  distance,  till,  turning  round  a 
huge  boulder,  they  found  themselves  on  the  little 
platform  of  a  crag  that  overhung  a  ravine  below, 
and  in  front  of  them  was  spread  a  wide  expanse 
of  lakes  and  mountains,  while  to  the  southwest, 
like  a  silver  ribbon,  ran  Racket  River. 

"  There  !  "  said  Sam,  pointing  to  the  north-west. 
"  You  see  those  first  three  hills  that  stand  to- 
gether and  make  a  circle  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Allan.  "They  look  almost  as 
if  one  could  reach  them." 

"  Well,  you  can't  see  it,"  continued  Sam ;  "  but 
down  between  those  hills  is  the  prettiest  little 
lake  you  ever  saw ;  and  it 's  the  greatest  place  for 
trout.  Gentlemen  don't  go  there  generally ;  for, 
in  the  first  place,  it  is  not  every  guide  that  knows 
about  it,  and,  in  the  next  place,  we  don't  always 
want  to  spoil  all  our  own  fishing,  you  under- 
stand." 

"  Yes,"  said  Allan,  pleased  that  he  and  John 
should  be  distinguished  from  the  multitude  of 
sportsmen.     "  Is  it  a  good  place  for  trout  ?  " 

"  First-rate.  I  've  been  there  two  or  three 
times  myself;  and  I  've  seen  the  trout  at  evening 


THE  SILVER  RIFLE.  121 

just  jump,  jump,  jump  all  over  it  like  so  many 
grasshoppers,  —  big  ones,  too." 

"  I  wish  we  could  go  there,"  said  John,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking,"  said  Sam,  "  it  is  n't 
such  a  very  hard  place  to  get  to ;  only  it 's  rather 
out  of  the  way.  There  's  one  carry,  and  something 
of  a  rapid,  but  not  much  of  a  one.  If  your  father 
would  let  you,  we  might  go  there  to-morrow 
night,  and  come  back  next  day.  We  could  camp 
out,  and  have  a  good  time  j  just  you  and  I." 

The  boys,  of  course,  caught  eagerly  at  the 
notion. 

"  Oh !  it  would  be  splendid  !  "  said  Allan.  "  I 
dare  say  father  won't  object.  We  can  ask  him, 
anyway." 

"We  will,"  said  John.  "What's  the  name 
of  the  lake,  Sam?" 

"  It  has  n't  any  that  ever  I  heard  of,"  said 
Sam,  looking  out  toward  the  three  hills,  and 
nibbling  a  little  twig.  "  You  can  give  it  one  if 
you  want  to,  and  I  '11  try  to  make  it  stick." 

"Allan,"  said  John,  struck  with  a  sudden 
thought,  "  Let 's  call  it  Lake  Lois,  after 
grandma.     Don't  you  think  it  sounds  well  ?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Allan,  equally  pleased. 
"  Lake  Lois,  you  remember,  Sam." 

"Yes,"  said  Sam,  "I'll  remember.  It's  a 
11 


122  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

good  name,  too,  to  hold  on  by,  because  it 's  got  a 
kind  of  ring  to  it.  Come,  now,  I  guess  it 's  about 
time  we  were  on  our  way  home." 

"  Yes,  I  begin  to  want  my  supper,"  said  John. 
"  I  hope  father  had  good  luck." 

"  Young  gentlemen,"  asked  Sam,  as  they  made 
their  way  down  the  mountain,  "  do  you  mean 
to  tell  your  father  about  what  happened  up  top 
there  ?  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  John,  surprised. 

"  Well,  you  see,"  said  Sam,  rather  embar- 
rassed, "it's  all  over  now,  and  you  are  safe. 
You  told  me  your  father  came  up  here  because 
he  was  n't  very  well.  Now,  if  you  tell  him  about 
it,  every  time  you  're  out  of  his  sight  he  won't 
be  able  to  help  feeling  kind  of  worried,  for  fear 
something  like  it  is  happening  to  you  again.  It 
is  n't  like  there  will,  but  he  '11  sort  of  feel  that 
way ;  and  it  will  trouble  him,  and  rather  spoil  his 
pleasure,  for  your  father  thinks  a  sight  of  you 
two." 

"  That 's  true,"  said  Allan,  greatly  struck  by 
this  view  of  the  matter;  "  and  John  does  n't  mean 
to  tumble  off  a  mountain  again,  do  you,  John  ?  " 

"  No ;  and  well,  on  the  whole,  perhaps  we 
hadn't  better  say  anything  about  it  till  we  get 
home.     We  '11  tell  him  then." 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  123 

"  Yes,"  said  Allan ;  "  I  do  believe  that  will  be 
the  best  way." 

"  And  then,"  said  Sam,  "  I  don't  really  feel  as 
if  it  was  my  fault." 

"  Of  course  not,  certainly  not,"  protested  both 
the  boys,  eagerly. 

"But  Michael  he'd  give  it  to  me  like  any- 
thing, if  he  knew  ;  and  the  story  might  get  about, 
— and  things  get  so  big  in  the  telling, — and,  first  I 
know,  some  one  will  be  saying  of  me,  '  That 's  the 
fellow  that  got  the  two  Fitz  Adam  boys  into  such 
a  scrape ; '  and  all  we  guides  have  to  depend  on, 
you  know,  is  our  reputation." 

"I'm  sure  we  wouldn't  injure  you  for  the 
world,  Sam,"  said  John,  warmly.  "  You  saved 
my  life;  and  I  want  father  to  know  that  some- 
time ;  but  I  do  think  we  '11  keep  it  to  ourselves 
till  we  get  back  to  '  Baker's.'  " 

Perhaps  both  the  boys  felt  that  if  the  story  was 
known  it  might  be  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the 
projected  expedition  to  "  Lake  Lois,"  or  of  other 
rambles  with  Sam.  But  if  this  motive  influenced 
them,  they  did  not  acknowledge  its  control,  even 
in  their  own  minds.  It  was  rather  one  of  those 
hidden  feelings  which  we  keep  in  some  sort  of 
cupboard  in  our  brains,  and  of  whose  existence 
we  are  only  half  conscious. 


124  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

They  did  not  want  their  father  to  be  troubled ; 
they  did  not  want  Michael  to  find  fault  with  Sara. 
Accordingly,  when  they  reached  the  camp,  though 
they  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  the  delight 
of  their  expedition,  the  splendid  view  from  the 
mountain-top,  and  the  lake  which  they  had  named 
after  their  grandmother,  they  never  so  much  as 
hinted  at  the  peril  in  which  John  had  been  placed, 
and  his  merciful  escape. 


CHAPTER  V. 

LAKE   LOIS. 

niHE  next  morning  the  boys  laid  before  their 
-L  father  their  proposed  expedition  to  the  lake 
among  the  three  hills,  and  eagerly  awaited  his 
decision. 

"  It  appears,  to  me/'  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam, 
smiling,  "  that  you  young  gentlemen  are  getting 
very  independent  in  your  ideas." 

Here  Everard  made  a  reference  to  the  pro- 
verbial independence  of  a  frog  on  the  ice,  who,  if 
he  cannot  stand  up,  can  always  fall  down. 

"  You  see  they  think  our  company  is  too  frivol- 
ous," said  Dr.  Fenton ;  "  and  they  want  to  go 
away,  and  meditate,  and  improve  their  minds." 

"  Now,  uncle,  we  -don't,  either !  "  said  Allan, 
repelling  the  charge  as  something  quite  inju- 
rious. "  But  Sam  says  it 's  a  splendid  place  for 
trout;  and  we  just  want  to  see  how  it  seems  to 
go  oif  and  spend  a  night  by  ourselves  in  the 
woods." 

11  *  125 


126  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Well,"  said  the  indulgent  father,  "  we  will 
ask  Michael  about  it,  and  see  what  he  says." 

"  And  then  you  and  my  uncle,  or  Michael,  can 
come  over  in  the  morning,"  said  John ;  "  and  we 
can  all  come  back  together." 

The  boys  hurried  away  to  put  up  their  things, 
for  they  had  little  doubt  of  Michael's  sanction. 

"  If  he  thinks  it  is  safe  for  them,"  said  Dr. 
Fenton,  "  we  will  go  over  in  the  morning,  and 
see  how  it  seems,  too.  Do  you  remember,  Fitz, 
how,  when  we  were  at  school  in  Canandaigua,  we 
went  out  to  one  of  the  little  islands  on  the  lake, 
to  spend  the  night  and  see  how  Robinson  Crusoe 
felt?" 

"  I  do,  distinctly ;  and  I  also  remember  how 
a  thunder-storm  came  up,  and  the  wind  blew, 
and  how  exceedingly  scared  we  were,  under  those 
circumstances;  and  glad  enough  we  were  to  get 
back  to  school  the  next  day." 

"And  what  did  they  say  to  you?"  asked 
Everard. 

"  On  the  whole,  perhaps  that  part  of  the  matter 
had  better  be  passed  over,"  said  his  father ;  "  but 
we  were  little  fellows  then,  of  ten  and  twelve,  and 
not  quite  so  well  able  to  take  care  of  ourselves  as 
those  two.  Fitz,  they  are  just  now  like  what  I 
can  imagine  we  might  be,  if  we  found  ourselves 


THE  SILVEB   RIFLE.  127 

suddenly  endowed  with  wings.  We  should  be 
trying  some  pretty  wild  flights,  just  to  see  how 
it  seemed." 

Here  Michael,  who  had  been  building  what  are 
called  "  smudges/'  - —  a  defence,  alas !  too  neces- 
sary in  those  regions,  —  came  up,  and  Mr.  Fitz 
Adam  told  him  what  the  boys  had  planned,  and 
asked  him  if  he  thought  they  could  safely  be 
trusted  to  make  such  an  expedition  under  Sam's 
guidance.  Sam,  who  was  preparing  some  wild 
ducks  for  dinner  at  a  little  distance,  looked  up 
anxiously,  but  did  not  speak.  Michael,  instead 
of  answering  Mr.  Fitz  Adam's  question,  turned 
to  the  boy  and  asked  what  lake  he  meant. 

"  I  mean  that  little  one  among  the  three  hills, 
sir,  about  three  miles  north-west  of  here.  You 
know  what  sort  of  a  place  it  is." 

"  Ever  been  there  yourself?  "  asked  Michael. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  several  times.  I  know  the  way 
quite  well.  You  know  I  could  show  the  young 
gentlemen  some  good  sport ;  and  I  thought  per- 
haps you  and  the  other  gentlemen  would  come 
over  iu  the  morning." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  you  know  the  way  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,"  said  Sam,  smiling. 

"  Because  it  would  be  an  unpleasant  thing  to 
get  lost  in   the  woods,"  said  Michael.     "Well, 


128  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

squire,  I  don't  see  anything  against  it,  if  you  feel 
to  have  the  young  gentlemen  go.  It's  sort  of 
nature  for  boys  to  like  to  get  off  by  themselves  ; 
and  lots  of  scrapes  they  get  into  that  way  some- 
times, too.  Your  sons  have  been  more  used  to 
running  round  the  woods  than  most  boys  of  their 
age,  or  I  would  n't  advise  you  to  let  them  go. 
But  they  're  both  pretty  fair  shots  ;  and  I  really 
think  they've  got  some  considerable  sense  for 
their  age,  though  they  are  so  frisky.  And  if 
they  've  very  much  set  on  it,  and  I  suppose  they 
are,  I  don't  see  anything  against  it." 

These  remarks,  coming  from  Michael,  might 
be  taken  as  exceedingly  complimentary  to  the 
young  gentlemen,  and  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  was 
naturally  pleased. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he-  said.  "  I  suppose  they 
will  have  to  go." 

"  Only  this,  squire,"  said  Michael.  "  You  'd 
better  tell  them  not  to  go  rambling  off  any- 
where else.  There 's  a  pretty  wild  country  round 
north  and  south  of  there;  and  though  I  know 
the  hills  round  here  as  well  as  any  one,  there 's 
places  there  I  've  never  been  in,  and  a  great  lot 
of  hills  and  mountains  all  lying  round  loose, 
where  any  one  might  lose  themselves,  and  never 
be  found  again.     Where  do  you  mean  to  make 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  129 

your  camp,  Sam,  so  that  I  can  find  you  when 


we  come 


9» 


"  Well,  sir,  I  thought  we  'd  go  to  that  little 
rocky  headland  on  the  west  side  of  the  lake ;  and 
you  could  n't  well  miss  us  any  way,  for  the  lake 
is  n't  more  than  two  miles  round ;  and  you  can  see 
the  whole  of  it." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Michael.  "  Be  sure  you  go 
there,  and  nowhere  else  ;  and  young  gentlemen," 
he  added,  as  the  two  boys  came  out  of  the  shanty, 
"  don't  you  go  wandering  off  into  the  woods  by 
yourselves." 

"  No,  boys,  remember  you  don't,"  said  Mr.  Fitz 
Adam ;  "  and  promise  me  that  you  will  go  straight 
to  this  '  Lake  Lois '  of  yours,  and  nowhere  else." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  both  the  brothers.  "And 
you  '11  come  over  in  the  morning  ?  Everard,  why 
won't  you  come?" 

"  You  never  asked  me." 

"  Why,  when  we  said  we  boys,  we  meant  you, 
of  course,"  said  John. 

"  Thank  you.  No,  on  the  whole,  I  think  I 
won't.  The  boat  won't  hold  four  comfortably; 
and  if  we  take  the  two,  it  will  make  the  carry  too 
tiresome.     I  '11  come  over  in  the  morning." 

Everard  Would  have  liked  very  well  to  join 
the  expedition.  He  did  not  care  much  for  the 
I 


130  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

fishing  to  which  the  boys  looked  forward;  but 
he  would  have  liked  to  see  the  little  lonely  lake 
among  the  hills  by  moonlight.  In  spite  of  his 
twenty-one  years,  he  felt  something  of  the  boy- 
ish wish  to  get  off  by  himself.  But  though  Dr. 
Fenton  had  not  hinted  that  he  did  not  wish  his 
son  to  go,  Everard  fancied  that  his  father  would 
be  a  little  uncomfortable  if  he  went.  He  did  not 
feel  that  he  was  making  any  great  sacrifice  ;  but 
still  he  would  have  been  glad  to  accompany  his 
cousins. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  say  you  would  go  ?  "  asked 
the  doctor,  as  the  boys  ran  away  to  talk  over  the 
matter  with  Sam. 

"  Oh,  I  did  n't  care  so  very  much  about  it," 
said  Everard,  lightly. 

"  If  you  care  at  all,  go  by  all  means,"  said  his 
father.  "  If  your  uncle  can  let  Allan  and  John 
go  at  their  age,  it  would  be  rather  absurd  for  me 
to  fidget  about  you." 

"  But  yet  you  would,  sir,"  thought  Everard  to 
himself;  and  he  answered  aloud  : 

"  Oh,  I  shall  enjoy  it  more  going  in  the  morn- 
ing. And  I  really  don't  care  to  fish,  though  I 
have  n't  courage  to  acknowledge  as  much  to  the 
boys." 

It  was  noon  when  John  and  Allan  left  the 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  131 

camp  under  Sam's  guidance.  They  carried  no 
baggage  but  their  guns  and  rods,  a  little  hard 
biscuit,  a  small  piece  of  pork,  and  some  coffee, 
a  little  kettle,  and  an  axe.  They  landed  on  the 
shore  of  the  lake  about  a  mile  above  their  camp, 
and  then  carried  their  boat,  by  a  rough  and  wild 
way  through  the  deepest  woods,  to  a  little  foam- 
ing, dashing  stream,  which,  as  Sam  assured  them, 
ran  into  Lake  Lois.  They  had  not  followed  the 
brook  for  more  than  a  mile  when  they  heard  the 
roar  of  a  waterfall,  and  were  told  by  Sam  that 
they  must  again  land,  and  carry  the  boat  round. 

"  Why,  Sam  !  "  said  John.  "  I  thought  you 
said  there  was  only  one  carry  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  don't  generally  reckon  more  than 
one,  because  a  good  many  people  shoot  that  fall." 

"  Oh,  let  us  do  it,"  said  John,  eagerly. 

"  No,  sir"  said  Sam,  with  emphasis.  "  I  'd  a 
good  deal  rather  not.  It 's  pretty  steep ;  and  we 
three  are  a  little  heavy  for  this  bit  of  a  thing,  and 
you  are  not  used  to  the  work ;  and  if  there  was  to 
be  an  accident,  it  would  be  bad ; "  and,  in  spite 
of  the  boys'  supplications,  Sam  steered  the  boat 
to  the  bank. 

"  Michael  might  well  say  you  are  careful," 
said  Allan,  half  provoked.  "  You  are  a  perfect 
old  granny." 


132  THE    SILVER    RIFLE, 

"  Just  you  look  at  the  fall,  and  see,"  said  Sam, 
good-naturedly. 

The  boys  did  so,  and  could  not  but  acknowl- 
edge to  themselves  that  Sam  was  right.  The 
water  fell  full  twenty  feet,  almost  sheer  down ; 
and  was  dashed  into  foaming  spray  on  sharp 
black  rocks,  which  stood  up  out  of  the  water  as 
though  ready  to  tear  in  pieces  any  boat  daring 
enough  to  venture  down. 

"  Well,  I  should  n't  think  anybody  could  shoot 
that  fall,"  said  John.  "Why,  they'd  be  all 
dashed  to  pieces  at  the  bottom." 

"  'T  is  rather  a  particular  piece  of  work,"  said 
Sam.  "  I  never  tried  it  alone,  and  only  once 
with  old  George  Flint ;  and  I  tell  you  I  was  n't 
sorry  when  we  got  to  the  bottom.  You  would  n't 
like  to  have  your  silver  rifle  lying  down  there  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed ! "  said  John,  to  whom  it  appeared 
almost  incredible  that  any  boat  could  make  such 
a  descent,  and  live.  But  he  knew  that  men  ac- 
customed to  handling  a  canoe  could  do  wonderful 
things,  and  he  never  thought  of  doubting  Sam's 
word. 

"  Well,"  said  Allan,  "  I  suppose  if  it  is  carry, 
why,  carry  we  must.     Is  it  long,  Sam  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  half  a  mile." 

It  was  a  half  mile,  however,  that  rather  tasked 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  133 

the  boys'  powers  of  endurance.  It  was  up  hill, 
and  through  deep,  wild  woods  and  among  huge 
rocks,  where  it  seemed  almost  as  if  no  one  had 
been  since  the  creation  of  the  world ;  so  utterly 
lonely  and  wild  was  the  way.  To  the  boys'  sur- 
prise, they  did  not  follow  the  stream  they  had  just 
left,  but  turned  oif  into  the  wilderness. 

"  I  thought  you  said  the  brook  we  left  ran  into 
'  Lake  Lois'?"  said  Allan,  to  the  guide. 

"  It  does,  sir  ;  but  when  we  get  over  this  little 
hill,  we  '11  come  on  a  better  one,  that  runs  with  a 
smoother,  deeper  channel,  and  then  we  '11  go  right 
straight  along.  If  you  don't  like  to  go  on,  young 
gentlemen, — and  it  is  kind  of  a  lonesome  place  for 
any  one  that  isn't  used  to  the  woods, — why,  we 
can  turn  back." 

Sam  spoke  with  the  most  perfect  simplicity, 
and  stood  still,  as  though  only  waiting  for  the 
word  to  turn  about  and  retrace  his  steps. 

The  boys,  of  course,  scorned  to  confess,  even  to 
themselves,  the  sort  of  eerie  impression  which  the 
dark,  unknown  path  had  made  upon  their  feel- 
ings. The  idea  of  going  back,  and  acknowledg- 
ing —  especially  to  Everard  and  Michael  —  that 
they  had  done  so  because  the  woods  were  darker 
and  deeper  than  they  had  expected,  was  not  to 
be  thought  of  for  a  moment. 
12 


134  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  What  nonsense ! "  said  Allan,  colouring.  "  Do 
you  think  we  are  afraid  ?     Go  ahead ! " 

"And  we  are  more  used  to  the  woods  than 
you  think/'  said  John,  a  little  annoyed.  "  We 
used  to  run  round  a  great  deal  on  the  hills 
about  Mr.  De  Forest's ;  and  there  are  some  pretty 
wild  places  there,  I  can  tell  you;"  and  John 
began  to  whistle. 

Sam  smiled  to  himself,  for  he  quite  understood 
the  state  of  the  young  gentlemen's  minds ;  but  he 
never  hinted  that  such  was  the  case.  Never  had 
he  made  himself  more  agreeable  than  during  the 
remainder  of  that  half-mile  walk.  He  sang,  and 
talked,  and  told  his  best  stories,  and  when  they 
reached  the  banks  of  the  stream  where  they  were 
once  more  to  embark,  the  boys  had  quite  forgotten 
their  momentary  feeling  of  discomfort,  and  were 
in  high  spirits.  The  stream  on  which  they  now 
launched  their  canoe  was  narrow,  but  deep,  and  ran 
with  a  rapid  current,  which  carried  the  boat  swift- 
ly along.  It  wound  through  deep  pine  woods  which 
the  axe  had  never  invaded ;  by  rocky,  wild  nooks, 
each  more  beautiful  than  the  other;  and  once,  for 
some  distance,  through  a  dark  defile,  shut  in  by 
black  cliffs  and  full  of  perpetual  shadow,  for, 
above,  the  trees  on  each  side  the  narrow  ravine 
interlaced  their  branches.     Here  not  a  sound  was 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  135 

heard  but  the  rush  of  the  wind  and  water,  and 
once  or  twice  the  wild,  screaming  voice  of  the 
great  owl.  Now  and  then,  however,  the  silence 
was  pierced  by  the  slow,  sweet,  monotonous  song 
of  the  bird  that  some  call  the  "  Canada  Whistler," 
and  others  "  the  sleepy  bird." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  at  last,  "  this  is  certainly 
the  longest  three  and  a  half  miles  I  ever  went  over. 
It  will  be  twilight  before  we  get  there." 

"Oh,  I  meant  three  and  a  half  miles  straight, 
sir,"  said  Sam.  "  We  could  have  gone  straight, 
but  it  would  have  been  a  great  climb ;  and  we 
could  n't  have  taken  the  boat." 

"  All  right ! "  said  Allan,  accepting  the  ex- 
planation. "But  when  are  we  going  to  get 
there?" 

"  In  a  few  minutes,"  returned  Sam ;  "  and 
then,  young  gentlemen,  I  think  you  will  say  it 
was  worth  coming  for." 

In  five  minutes  more  the  stream,  making  a 
sudden  turn,  swept  round  the  foot  of  a  craggy 
hill,  and  the  lake  opened  before  them. 

The  boys  gave  a  cry  of  delight. 

The  sheet  of  water  was  almost  an  oval  in 
shape ;  near  where  the  stream  entered,  the  banks 
were  low,  and  a  level,  park-like  expanse  dotted 
with  great  oaks  and  maples  ran  back  to  the  hills. 


136  THE   SILVER    KIFLE. 

A  little  farther  on,  however,  the  hills  came  close 
to  the  water,  and  at  the  farthest  end  towered 
into  a  wild,  rocky  mountain,  whose  summit  was 
crowned  by  one  sharp,  gray  peak,  clearly  defined 
against  the  eastern  sky. 

The  shadows  were  beginning  to  fall,  and  a 
broad  band  of  rose  color,  shading  into  gray,  was 
drawn  along  the  eastern  horizon,  But  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  did  not 
so  much  attract  the  boys  as  the  innumerable 
circles  which  dimpled  the  water  in  all  directions ; 
for  from  the  centre  of  each  sudden  ring  sprang 
and  fell  a  fish, 

"  There,  now !  "  said  Sam.  "  This  is  rather 
nice ;  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Nice ! "  said  John,  with  enthusiasm.  "  I 
should  think  it  was !  Push  out,  and  let  us 
begin  —  " 

"  Well,  I  guess  we  'd  better  land  the  kettle 
and  things  first,  and  make  our  fire,"  said  Sam, 
"  and  then  it  will  be  all  ready  to  broil  our  fish." 

Rather  unwillingly,  the  boys  complied;  but  in 
a  few  minutes  their  fire  was  built,  a  shelter  of 
boughs  hastily  erected,  and  then  they  entered  the 
canoe,  and  pushed  out  into  the  lake,  Allan  left 
his  gun  on  shore,  but  John  put  his  into  the 
canoe. 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  137 

"  Are  you  going  to  shoot  trout,  sir  ? "  asked 
Sam. 

"  I  don't  like  to  let  my  rifle  out  of  my  sight," 
said  John,  laughing.  "  My !  what  a  big  fellow 
that  was  that  jumped  there." 

The  boys  had  excellent  sport  catching  such 
trout  as  they  had  never  before  seen ;  and,  after 
a  couple  of  hours  on  the  water,  returned  tired, 
hungry,  and  happy  to  the  little  point  where  the 
glimmer  of  the  fire  seemed  to  invite  them. 

They  were  in  a  high  frolic,  cooking  their  fish 
and  chattering  among  themselves,  when  they 
suddenly  heard  from  over  the  water  a  long,  wild, 
shrieking  laugh  like  that  of  a  crazy  person. 

Though  they  knew  what  it  was,  they  all  three 
started. 

"  It 's  only  a  loon,"  said  Allan,  recovering 
himself.  "  I  never  heard  one  so  loud  or  so  near : 
he  must  be  a  big  fellow." 

"See,  there  he  is!"  said  John,  pointing  out  a 
black  speck  on  the  water.  "  See  him  dive !  I 
wonder  they  don't  choke  to  death.  There  he  goes 
again ! "  as  the  laugh  again  rang  out,  and  was 
answered  by  another. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Allan,  addressing  the 
loon,  which  was  coming  nearer,  "what  is  the 
use  of  making  such  a  noise  as  that  ?  I  should  n't 
12* 


138  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

think   it   would    recommend   you   to   society  in 
general." 

The  loon  screamed  more  frantically  than  ever ; 
and  another  making  its  appearance  farther  up  the 
lake,  the  two  united  in  a  concert,  which,  heard  in 
a  lonely  place,  was  really  horrible. 

"  I  can't  bear  those  critters,"  said  Sam.  "  It 
always  seems  just  as  if  they  were  mocking  at 
me,"  and  Sam  took  Allan's  gun  and  fired  at  the 
nearest  bird,  which  merely  dived  under  the  water, 
and,  reappearing  a  little  farther  away,  whooped 
and  laughed  like  a  maniac. 

"  Oh,  let  him  laugh  !  "  said  John.  "  He  has  a 
right,  if  he  likes ;  it 's  niore  his  place  than  it  is 
ours.     Come,  sit  down,  and  get  your  supper." 

"  I  don't  wonder  people  say  '  as  crazy  as  a 
loon,' "  said  Allan,  as  the  three  sat  down  to  their 
feast.  "  "What  a  horrible  noise  it  is  !  I  don't 
envy  Mrs.  Loon,  if  that's  the  gentleman's  usual 
style  at  home;  but  I  dare  say  she  thinks  it's 
beautiful." 

"  Just  like  Aunt  Elsie  pretending  to  admire 
Lyman's  singing,"  said  John;  "and  she  knows 
he  can't  sing,  just  as  well  as  the  rest  of  us 
know  it.  I  don't  think  anything  ever  was  quite 
so  nice  as  this  trout.  I  wish  Everard  had  come 
with  us." 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  139 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Allan.  "  Why,  John,  you  are 
not  going  to  clean  that  everlasting  rifle  of  yours 
to-night,  are  you  ?  You  make  as  much  fuss  over 
it  as  Aunt  Elsie  over  her  children." 

"  No ;  I  don't  mean  to  give  it  a  regular  clean- 
ing," said  John,  refilling  the  kettle  with  water 
after  the  coffee  was  made  ;  "  only  just  wipe  out 
the  barrels." 

"  I  '11  do  it  for  you,"  said  Sam.  "  You  must 
be  rather  tired." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  John;  "it  won't  take 
me  but  a  minute  or  two." 

"Well,  mine  will  keep  till  morning,"  said 
Allan,  yawning ;  "  it  wants  a  cleaning  too.  I 
think  a  good  deal  of  my  gun,  but  I  don't  make 
quite  such  an  idol  of  it  as  John  does."  . 

"  I  '11  clean  it  for  you  now,"  said  Sam ;  "  and 
then  if  you  want  to  use  it  in  the  morning  you 
can." 

"  Oh,  you  don't  want  to  bother  with  it  now," 
said  Allan,  reluctant  to  trouble  Sam  too  much,  but 
willing  to  escape  a  piece  of  work  which  he  disliked. 

"  Oh,  I  rather  like  to  clean  a  gun ! "  said  Sam, 
who  had  finished  his  supper,  and  he  took  up 
Allan's  pretty  little,  light  rifle, —  his  father's  gift 
on  his  last  birthday, —  and  began  to  clean  it  with 
skill  and  care. 


140  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  You  see  your  brother  is  willing  to  trust  me," 
he  said  to  John,  half  laughing,  half  in  earnest. 

"  Oh,  you  know  it  is  n't  that !  "  said  John. 
"  But  I  know  how  Mr.  De  Forest  loved  this ; 
and  it's  just  a  notion  of  mine  to  take  care  of  it 
myself.     Why  did  n't  you  bring  your  gun  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  did  n't  expect  to  hunt  any,  you  know; 
and  we  had  things  enough  to  carry,  and  two  guns 
were  plenty.  Don't  you  begin  to  feel  ready  to  go 
to  bed?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  "  said  Allan,  sleepily.  "  Don't 
you?" 

"  I  think  I  shall  keep  watch,"  said  Sam. 

"  Why,"  said  John,  "  we  don't  in  the  camp. 
What  is  there  to  be  afraid  of?" 

"  Oh,  nothing ;  only  it 's  a  lonely  kind  of 
place,  and  I  feel  a  little  responsible." 

The  boys  were  rather  pleased  than  otherwise, 
with  the  idea  of  a  watch  being  kept. 

"  But  you  must  n't  sit  up  alone  all  night,"  said 
John ;  "  we  can  divide  the  night  in  three." 

"  You  can  take  the  first  turn  if  you  like, 
and  then  Allan,  and  then  I ;  qx  just  as  you 
please." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  a  bit  mind  sitting  up,"  said 
Sam.  "  You  've  had  a  pretty  good  tramp,  and 
are  tired." 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  141 

The  boys,  however,  protested  so  vehemently, 
and  were  so  determined  to  take  their  turn  in  the 
watch,  that  Sam  gave  way,  and  promised  to  call 
one  of  the  brothers  at  midnight. 

"  You  can  take  my  rifle  in  case  any  bears 
should  come,"  said  Allan.  "  Come,  John,  or  I 
shall  go  to  sleep  sitting  up." 

The  two  boys,  with  another  charge  to  Sam  to 
be  sure  to  wake  them,  entered  the  little  shelter 
of  boughs  which  had  been  put  up.  They  said 
their  usual  prayers,  and  lying  down  on  the  fra- 
grant couch  of  hemlock  twigs  which  Sam  had 
prepared,  they  covered  themselves  with  their 
blankets,  and  were  sound  asleep  in  two  minutes. 

When  Allan  first  woke  it  was  bright  daylight, 
and  his  brother  was  asleep  by  his  side. 

"  There,  now ! "  said  Allan,  quite  provoked. 
"Sam  never  called  us  after  all;  and  he  said 
he  certainly  would.  John,  wake  up;  it's  morn- 
ing ! " 

"  Morning !  "  said  John,  starting  up.  "  Why 
did  n't  you  call  me  ?  " 

"  Because  I  've  only  just  waked  up  this  minute 
myself.  If  I  don't  give  it  to  Sam  for  serving 
us  such  a  trick :  I  don't  see  him  either,"  con- 
tinued Allan,  looking  out.  "  Hop  up,  John,  and 
let 's  find  him." 


142  THE   SILVER    EIFLE. 

John  turned  to  take  up  his  rifle,  which,  accord- 
ing to  custom,  he  had  laid  down  at  night  within 
reach  of  his  hand  :  it  was  gone. 

"  Why,  where 's  my  rifle  ?  "  he  said,  startled. 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  Allan  ;  "  and  where 's 
my  rod  ?     I  stood  it  right  there,  last  night." 

The  boys  sprang  up,  and,  moved  by  the  same 
impulse,  rushed  out  of  the  little  shed. 

The  last  embers  of  a  fire  that  had  not  been  fed 
for  hours  were  dying  on  the  ground.  The  canoe 
was  gone  from  the  shore,  and  Sam  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

The  boys  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement. 

"  Where  can  he  have  gone?"  said  Allan. 

"  Wherever  he  went,  he  had  no  business  to 
take  my  rifle,"  said  John,  much  annoyed. 

"  I  have  refused  to  lend  it  to  him  before,  and 
told  him  the  reason.  And,  why,  Allan,  he  had 
your  rifle,  too  !  " 

"  Look  for  your  rod,"  said  Allan,  in  a  troubled 
voice. 

John's  rod  was  nowhere  to  be  found ;  and  as 
the  boys  looked  farther,  they  discovered  that  the 
kettle,  and  more  than  half  their  provisions,  had 
disappeared,  and  Allan's  fly-book  had  been  taken 
from  his  pocket. 

"  Oh,  John,"  said  Allan,  in  dismay,  "  can  it  be 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  143 

possible  that  he  has  robbed  us,  and  gone  off  and 
left  us?" 

"  I  can't,  I  won't  believe  it ! "  said  John, 
vehemently.  "  Nobody  could  be  so  wicked.  Per- 
haps he  has  been  carried  off  by  some  wild  beast." 

"  No  bear  or  panther  would  have  carried  off 
the  other  things ;  and  if  there  had  been  any  strug- 
gle, we  should  have  heard  it;  and  there  are  no 
tracks  on  the  sand,  only  of  our  own  feet.  How 
could  he  do  it  ?  Oh,  how  could  he  ?  "  and  Allan 
turned  away  with  a  quivering  lip,  hurt  to  his  very 
heart  by  the  sense  of  his  friend's  baseness  and 
treachery,  and  regret  for  his  beloved  rod. 

"  The  mean  little  villain  !  "  said  John,  fiercely. 
"Oh,  if  I  could  just  catch  him!  But  there's 
no  telling  which  way  he 's  gone.  My  rifle !  my 
poor  rifle  !  I  hope  it  will  go  off  and  shoot  him  ! " 
and  John  paced  to  and  fro  in  a  tumult  of  passion, 
bitter  with  the  sense  of  betrayal  and  the  loss  of 
his  most  cherished  possession. 

"  Don't  give  it  up  for  lost,  John,"  said  Allan, 
trying  to  comfort  his  brother.  "  When  Michael 
comes  over,  he  will  be  able  to  track  Sam,  I  dare 
say,  and  will  get  the  things  back." 

"  Perhaps  so !  "  said  John,  a  little  relieved  by 
this  view  of  the  case.  "  But  if  it  had  been  any 
one  else,  I  should  n't  have  minded  half  so  much  ; 


144  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

though  I  'd  rather  have  lost  anything  else  I  have 
in  the  world ;  but  that  he  should  be  so  mean,  after 
all ;  and  we  've  been  together  so  much,  and  I 
thought  he  was  just  all  he  ought  to  be.  Why, 
Allan,  I  'd  as  soon  have  expected  you  or  Everard 
to  steal  from  us." 

"  Yes ;  I  can't  hardly  believe  it,  even  now.  I 
never  shall  know  how  to  trust  any  one  again. 
Let 's  call,  John ;  maybe  he 's  only  done  it  for  a 
trick." 

"  Pretty  trick  S  "  said  John.  "  We  can  try ; 
but  I  know  it 's  no  use ;  "  and  the  two  united 
their  voices,  and  called  Sam  again  and  again,  but 
there  was  no  answer  but  the  echo  from  the  hills. 

"  Well,  it 's  no  use  to  cry  for  spilt  milk,"  said 
John,  trying  to  be  heroic.  "  What  we  've  got  to 
do  is  to  get  our  breakfast.  We've  got  fish 
enough  left.  Oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  I  canH  bear 
it !  "  said  John,  suddenly  breaking  down  in  a 
eob.  "To  steal  that  gun  away  from  us  while 
we  were  asleep,  and  leave  us  not  one  thing." 

"  Don't  grieve  so,  John,"  said  Allan,  putting 
his  arm  round  his  brother.  "  It  is  almost  too 
bad  to  bear ;  but  I  hope  we  can  get  the  things 
again.  I  wonder  he  didn't  take  our  watches, 
too." 

"  He  could  n't  get  them  without  waking  us,  I 


THE  SILVER  RIFLE.  145 

suppose,"  said  John,  dashing  away  his  tears. 
"  If  I  was  to  see  him,  I  believe  I  could  just  kill 
him." 

"  Oh,  John  !  "  said  Allan,  who  was  of  a  more 
placable  temper  than  his  brother.  "We  ought 
not  to  say  that." 

"  I  could  !  "  said  John,  savagely.  "  There ! 
Let 's  have  breakfast.  We  can't  have  any  coffee, 
for  that  mean  scamp  has  taken  the  kettle,  too." 

The  boys  cooked  their  breakfast  of  fish  in 
gloomy  silence,  and  sat  down  on  the  shore  of  the 
lake  to  wait  for  their  father  and  Michael,  whom 
they  had  expected  by  nine  o'clock,  at  the  very 
latest.  * 

As  the  sons  of  a  lawyer  in  large  practice,  and 
dwellers  in  a  great  city,  John  and  Allan  had,  of 
course,  known  of  the  existence  of  crime,  wicked- 
ness, and  treachery  in  the  world.  They  had 
heard  and  read  of  trusted  clerks  who  had  robbed 
their  employers;  servants  who  had  deceived 
their  masters ;  even  of  sons  who  had  stolen  from 
their  fathers.  But  all  these  matters  had  been  to 
them  mere  stories.  Sam's  baseness  was  the  first 
thing  that  had  ever  brought  home  to  them  the 
real  sense  of  the  actual  nature  of  wickedness ;  and 
they  felt  almost  overcome  and  crushed  by  the 
bitter  knowledge  of  the  evil  that  is  in  the  world. 
13  K 


146  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

That  the  hoy  with  whom  they  had  played,  and 
fished,  and  hunted;  to  whom  they  had  looked  up 
as  a  model  of  excellence  in  all  relating  to  his 
way  of  life;  whom  they  had  trusted  so  frankly, 
should  have  betrayed,  robbed,  and  forsaken  them, 
seemed  to  the  two  brothers  something  almost  too 
monstrous  to  be  true.  The  whole  world  was 
changed. 

Then  there  was  the  irreparable  loss  of  their  old 
friend's  gifts, —  valuable  in  themselves,  and  ten 
times  more  valued  as  having  been  his  legacy. 
It  was  a  calamity  which  would  have  severely 
tried  older  people  than  the  two  lads ;  and  it  is 
no  wonder  that,  helpless  as  they  were  to  recover 
their  lost  treasures,  with  nothing  to  do  but  to  sit 
down  and  wait  by  the  lonely  shore,  they  felt 
their  courage  and  spirits  give  way. 

The  weather  began  to  change,  and  gray  clouds 
rolled  down  from  the  mountain,  blotting  out  the 
landscape  and  covering  the  lake  with  mist. 
Presently  the  rain  began  to  fall,  driving  the  two 
boys  for  shelter  under  the  little  cabin  of  boughs. 
It  had  been  very  hastily  erected,  and  was  no  pro- 
tection. John  and  Allan  were  soon  quite  wet 
through. 

Chilled,  lonesome,  and  miserable,  they  sat  to- 
gether, holding  each  other's  hands  and  growing 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  147 

more  eager  every  minute  for  the  arrival  of  their 
friends.  The  slow  hours  crept  on,  and  still  no 
one  came.  John  and  Allan  began  to  feel  very 
anxious. 

"It's  eleven  o'clock,"  said  Allan,  at  last; 
"  and  father  said  he  should  certainly  be  here 
early.     I  can't  understand  it." 

"  Allan,"  answered  his  brother,  struck  with  a 
sudden  thought,  "suppose  they  had  tried  to  come 
the  other  way,  and  been  wrecked  in  shooting  that 
fall?" 

"  Don't  say  such  horrid  things ! "  returned 
Allan,  turning  pale.  "  Look  here,  John;  do 
you  think  that  Sam  meant  to  do  this  when  we 
started  ?  " 

John  rose,  and  walked  up  and  down  trying  to 
warm  himself  a  little  by  motion. 

"  I  've  been  thinking  it  over,"  he  said ;  "  and  I 
believe  we  have  just  been  made  fools  of.  I  be- 
lieve he  meant  to  do  it  that  day  we  went  up  on  the 
mountain,  only  I  left  the  rifle  at  home;  and, 
Allan,  I  do  think  that  was  the  reason  he  did  n't 
want  us  to  tell  father  about  my  falling.  He 
knew  that  if  father  heard  how  careless  we  'd 
been,  he  would  n't  let  us  go  off  with  him  again." 

"  Serves  us  right,  then,  for  keeping  anything 
away  from  our  father,"  said  poor  Allan,  passing 


148  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

a  very  hard  judgment  on  himself  and  his  brother. 
"We  ought  to  have  told  him.  .But,  oh!  why 
don't  he  come  ?  He 's  always  so  particular  to  be 
just  the  time  he  says  he  will.  If  he  only  knew !" 
The  poor  boys  waited  in  vain.  Noon  came 
and  passed ;  the  afternoon  crept  by ;  the  evening 
shadows  settled  dark  over  the  lonely  lake ;  night 
came  down  black  with  rain  and  mist,  and  there 
was  no  sign  of  any  human  presence  but  their 
own.  Time  and  again  they  raised  their  voices 
and  called  aloud ;  but  there  was  no  answer,  only 
the  echo  from  the  hills,  and  the  long,  wild,  mock- 
ing laugh  of  the  loon. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A   LONG   NIGHT. 

THEY  won't  come ! "  said  John,  sadly,  when 
night  began  to  close  in,  dark  and  chill.  "  I 
wish  we  'd  started  to  get  home  this  morning,  and 
we  should  have  been  there  now." 

"  Oh,  if  we  only  were !  "  said  Allan,  almost 
overcome  at  the  remembrance  of  the  cheerful 
camp-fire,  his  father,  and  his  friends.  "I'm  so 
afraid  something's  happened  to  father." 

"  There 's  no  use  to  look  on  the  darkest  side," 
said  John,  trying  to  be  cheerful.  "  Come,  Allan, 
let 's  try  to  make  a  fire.  We  Ve  got  to  stay  here 
to-night,  at  all  events." 

"  It 's  dreadfully  lonesome !  "  said  Allan,  who 
was  very  sensitive  to  all  outward  influences,  and 
whose  vivid  imagination  began  to  bring  up  to 
him  all  the  horrors  of  which  he  had  ever  heard. 
"  I  hate  the  sight  of  it ;  and  I  won't  call  such  a 
detestable  place  after  grandma  at  all." 

"Well,  don't,  if  it  makes  you  feel  any  better. 
13*  149 


150  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

Let  's  try  for  a  fire ;  though  everything  is  so  wet, 
it  will  be  hard  to  find  anything  to  burn.  If  we 
only  had  the  axe ;  but  he  must  take  that  too ! 
Well,  something  will  come  after  him !  That 's 
one  comfort." 

"  I  'm  glad,  if  it  is  to  you,"  said  Allan,  rather 
snappishly.  "  It 's  none  to  me.  If  a  dozen  bears 
went  after  him,  it  would  n't  bring  back  the  rod 
and  the  silver  rifle." 

"  Now  look  here,  old  fellow,  don't  be  cross ;  we 
are  badly  enough  off  without  that." 

"  I  'm  not  cross !  "  retorted  Allan,  sharply. 
"  You  always  say  I  'm  cross,  John  Lyndon  Fitz 
Adam ;  but  I  'm  so  wretched  about  father." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  think  I  don't  mind,"  said 
John,  who  was  used  to  his  brother's  little  freaks 
of  temper,  and  quite  understood  that  Allan's 
irritation  was  directed,  not  toward  himself,  but 
toward  their  common  causes  of  trouble. 

"  Oh,  John  !  I  'in  a  wretch  !  I  'm  a  perfect 
brute ! "  said  the  poor  boy,  turning  his  anger 
against  himself.  "  And  I  've  got  no  more  sense 
than  that  old  pig-headed  loon  in  the  lake,  to  go 
and  snap  at  you." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  a  pig-headed  loon ;  but 
I  do  wish "  he  'd  stop  that  noise  of  his.  It  does 
sound  so — though  I  am  a  fool  to  mind  it.     Shoo, 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  151 

you  old  nuisance ! "  and  John  threw  a  stone  at 
the  loon,  which,  as  though  aware  that  the  guns 
were  gone,  only  dived,  and  came  up  nearer  the 
shore,  repeating  its  savage  laugh,  as  though  it 
were  really  mocking  the  misery  of  the  two  deso- 
late boys. 

"Just  you  wait  till  I  have  a  gun  over  here 
some  time,  you  hoo-hooing  old  thing ! "  said 
Allan,  really  angry  with  the  bird.  "  I  '11  make 
you  laugh  in  a  different  fashion.  Pooh,  what  a 
fool  I  am  !  Well,  here  goes  for  a  fire.  We  've 
got  our  knives  left,  any  way,  and  the  matches 
are  in  a  tin  box  in  my  pocket,  or  they'd  be 
soaked." 

After  great  trouble,  and  several  failures,  the 
boys  succeeded  in  building  a  fire  under  the 
shelter  of  a  rock,  where  they  were  less  exposed 
to  the  rain  and  the  wind,  which  now  began  to 
come  down  cold  from  the  mountain.  They  ate 
their  supper  of  salt  pork  and  hard  biscuit,  con- 
suming all  they  had ;  for  they  were  very  hungry. 
They  tried  to  dry  their  clothes  and  their  blankets 
at  the  blaze,  but  succeeded  only  in  part ;  for  the 
things  were  very  wet,  and  they  had  not  been  able 
to  get  dry  wood  of  sufficient  size  to  make  such  a 
roaring  fire  as  they  had  seen  Michael  build  with 
hemlock  boughs  and  logs. 


152  THE  SILVER   RIFLE, 

"  We  'd  better  keep  watch  by  turn/'  said  John, 
"  and  keep  up  the  fire.  If  there  are  any  wild 
creatures  round  here,  it  will  keep  them  off.  He 
might  have  left  us  one  gun.  I  wonder  how  he 
came  to  leave  your  powder-horn." 

"  Because  it  hung  right  over  my  head,"  said 
Allan,  "  and  he  could  n't  get  it  without  waking 
me,  the  little  villain.  Why,  John,  he  's  only  nine- 
teen ! " 

"  I  know.  Well,  if  he  don't  catch  it,  there 's 
no  justice  anywhere,"  said  the  other.  "He's  a 
perfect  Judas !" 

"  Only  he  won't  ever  bring  anything  back,  nor 
go  and  kill  himself,  as  Judas  did  j  but  I  don't 
want  to  talk  hardly  about  him,  for  I  did  like  him 
so  much." 

"  What  an  odd  boy  you  are !  That 's  just  the 
reason  I  can't  bear  him  now.  I  feel  as  if  he  had 
taken  me  in,  and  made  a  fool  of  me ;  and  I  can't 
forgive  him.     I  can't !  I  can't !  "  said  John. 

"  But  we  ought  to,  you  know,"  said  Allan,  who 
always  stood  in  some  dread  of  his  brother's  latent 
fierceness  of  temper.  "  You  would  n't  want  him 
to  be  sent  to  prison  ?  " 

"  Would  n't  I  ?  "  exclaimed  John,  with  em- 
phasis.    "  And  father  was  so  good  to  him,  too. 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  153 

Oh,  Allan !  if  we  only  knew  where  he  was,"  said 
John,  hiding  his  face. 

"  Oh,  some  little  thing  prevented  his  coming," 
said  Allan,  trying  to  speak  cheerfully. 

"Some  little  thing  never  prevented  his  keep- 
ing a  promise  yet;  and  he  would  have  sent 
Michael,  or  uncle  and  Everard  would  have  come. 
Well,  it 's  no  use  to  fret.  There,  the  blankets  are 
about  dry  now.  Lie  down,  Allan,  and  sleep  if 
you  can  ;  I  '11  sit  up  the  first  part  of  the  night." 

"  No,"  said  Allan,  "  let  me  sit  up  first.  I  'in 
in  such  a  fidget  now,  I  know  I  could  n't  sleep. 
You  lie  down,  and  let  me  have  my  way." 

"Very  well,"  said  John,  the  more  willingly, 
as  he  remembered  to  have  heard  that  the  morn- 
ing watch  was  the  hardest. 

"But,  John,"  said  Allan,  rather  timidly,  as 
his  brother  prepared  to  lie  down,  "  don't  you 
mean  to  say  your  prayers?" 

"  Allan,"  said  John,  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"  I  can't.  I  never  hated  any  one  before  in  all  my 
life,  though  I  've  been  angry  at  people.  But  now 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  do  anything,  if  I  could  only 
pay  that  fellow  off  as  he  deserves." 

"But  we  ought  not  to  feel  so,"  said  Allan. 
"  Well,  suppose  it 's  so.  Did  you  never  do  any- 
thing you  ought  not  ?  " 


154  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

"  You  know  I  have :  that 's  the  reason.  You 
know  father  would  say  this  was  the  very  time  of 
all  others  when  we  ought  to  ask  God  to  take  care 
of  us." 

"  Look  here,"  said  John ;  "  if  I  could  just  give 
that  fellow  one  good  thrashing,  I  might  forgive 
him  afterward ;  but  I  can't  now." 

Allan  was  somewhat  amused  at  this  theory  of 
forgiveness. 

"  I  know  how  you  feel,"  he  said. 

"  No,  you  don't.  You  are  so  sweet-tempered, 
you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  feel  real  ugly." 

"I  sweet-tempered!"  said  Allan.  "Well, 
that 's  a  new  idea !  " 

"  Oh,  you  scold  a  little,  and  make  a  fuss ;  but 
you  don't  feel  as  I  do,  —  savage  all  the  way 
through,  and  fit  to  kill  somebody.  I  hope  he'll 
lose  his  way  in  the  woods,  and  the  bears  will 
eat  him." 

"  Now,  you  know  you  don't !  If  you  found 
him  in  any  trouble,  you  'd  be  the  first  to  help 
him." 

"  I  would  n't,"  said  John,  quite  shortly. 

"  Indeed,  you  would.  Were  you  not  just  as 
angry  with  Mr.  Curtis?  And,  when  he  was  sick, 
did  n't  you  go  to  see  him,  and  take  him  grapes, 
and  books,  and  everything  ?  " 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  155 

"  Mr.  Curtis  said  he  was  sorry ;  and  he  had  n't 
injured  us  like  this." 

"  And  you  said  some  pretty  hard  things  to  me 
last  summer,"  said  Allan,  coloring;  "  not  but  what 
I  deserved  them  ;  and  did  n't  you  make  a  perfect 
slave  of  yourself  to  me  all  the  time  I  was  sick  ?  " 

"  I  acted  like  a  fool,"  said  John,  turning  away ; 
"  and  you  are  my  own  brother." 

"But,  John— " 

"  Well,  there  then,  have  your  own  way ! " 
said  John,  with  a  compliance  half  sulky,  half 
affectionate.  "  I  can  say  the  rest  of  the  Lord's 
prayer  any  way ;  if  I  can't  that,  and,  —  well,  yes, 
I'll  try, — and  that's  all  you  can  expect  of  me." 

Allan  felt  that  it  was  indeed  all  that  could  be 
expected  under  the  circumstances. 

The  two  brothers  knelt  on  the  wet  ground, 
and  repeated  their  usual  evening  prayer  with  all 
sincerity.  Allan  tried  to  put  up  a  special  petition 
for  his  father;  but  his  voice  faltered,  he  could 
not  speak  the  words;  but  could  only  murmur, 
"  for  Christ's  sake.    Amen  !  " 

"  That  is  a  kind  of  a  comfort,  any  way,"  said 
John,  after  a  few  minutes'  silence.  "  I  tell  you, 
Allan,  people  may  say  what  they  like, —  I  don't 
pretend  to  see  why  things  should  be  as  they  are, 
I  can't,  and  I  don't ;  —  but  I  do  know  there 's 
some  one  to  hear  and  answer  one's  prayer  just 


156  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

as  well  as  I  know  you  answer  when  you  speak 
to  me :  somebody  that  loves  us."  It  was  a  great 
deal  for  John  to  say,  for  he,  like  most  boys,  and 
also  men,  of  his  temperament,  was  very  shy  of 
expressing  his  deeper  feelings. 

"  Yes,"  said  Allan  :  "  it 's  so.  Lie  down  now 
and  go  to  sleep.  I  dare  say  we  shall  find  every- 
thing all  right  at  the  camp  in  the  morning." 

John  wrapped  his  blanket,  now  quite  warm 
and  dry,  around  him,  lay  down  under  the  shelter 
of  the  rock,  and  soon  fell  asleep,  leaving  Allan 
to  keep  up  the  fire. 

It  was  a  lonely  watch.  The  fire  burned  low  in 
fitful  flashes,  hardly  able  to  maintain  itself 
against  the  rain,  which  continued  to  fall  in  fine 
steady  drops.  The  light  of  the  blaze  only 
illumined  a  small  circle,  and  beyond  that  was 
the  dense  black  shadow  of  the  woods  on  one  side, 
and  on  the  other,  the  cold  white  curling  mists  of 
the  lake,  and  then  darkness. 

Out  of  the  forest  came  the  choked,  gurgling 
laugh  of  the  little  screech  owl,  the  wild  halloo 
of  the  great  barred  owl,  voices  which  Allan  knew 
very  well,  but  which  sounded  inexpressibly  dis- 
mal in  that  lonesome  place  and  the  night.  There 
were  other  sounds  too  which  he  did  not  know. 
Wild  screams,  as  of  agony  and  triumph,  repeated 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  157 

again  and  again,  and  ending,  as  it  seemed,  in 
loud  laughter.  These  cries  too  were  those  of  the 
owls,  of  which  birds  there  are  many  kinds  in  that, 
region,  all  of  them  greatly  enjoying  the  sound  of 
their  own  voices,  and  capable  of  making  noises 
quite  unimaginable  to  those  who  have  never 
heard  them.  Then  there  were  other  noises,  howls 
and  yells,  and,  as  it  almost  seemed,  articulate 
words,  music  such  as  that  with  which  your  own 
soft-voiced  pussy  will  make  night  hideous,  only 
louder  and  wilder.  These  sounds  came  from 
above  Allan's  head,  on  the  hillside,  and  presently 
ended  in  a  furious  yelling  and  spitting,  as  of  two 
wild  cats  having  a  difference  of  opinion,  which 
was  in  fact  the  case.  The  boy  knew  that  the 
creatures  would  not  be  likely  to  attack  him  if  he 
did  not  molest  them ;  but  still  their  near  neigh- 
bourhood was  not  pleasant.  Then  the  loons,  who 
either  did  not  feel  the  necessity  of  going  to  bed, 
or  else  sat  up  all  night  to  watch  the  two  boys, 
kept  up  their  concert,  and  shrieked  and  laughed 
frantically  from  one  to  another.  The  air  was 
full  of  rustling  whispers,  the  water  lapped  on  the 
shore,  the  rain  dripped  from  the  trees. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  Allan  grew  nervous. 
He  was  not  afraid  of  anything  in  particular,  but 
the  loneliness  of  the  place,  the  dreariness  of  their 

14 


158  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

situation,  his  anxiety  about  his  father,  all  com- 
bined to  act  on  an  excitable  imagination,  and 
made  him  wish,  as  he  had  never  wished  before, 
for  the  morning. 

He  made  an  effort  to  overcome  his  terrors,  and 
repeated  to  himself  all  the  verses  he  could  remem- 
ber from  the  Testament  and  Psalms,  and  hymns 
familiar  to  him  in  church  and  at  home.  Then 
he  tried  to  reason  with  himself.  They  had  no 
guns,  to  be  sure ;  but  Michael  had  often  told  him 
that,  unless  very  much  pressed  by  hunger,  hardly 
any  wild  animal  will  come  within  the  circle  of 
the  fire  to  attack  a  man.  It  was  not  the  time  of 
year  for  any  bear  or  panther  to  be  very  much 
famished.  Moreover,  bears  and  panthers  were 
few  and  far  between.  The  noises  made  by  the 
owls  were  dismal  enough ;  but  after  all  they  were 
only  owls.  The  two  wild  cats,  which  had  raced 
away  to  renew  their  dispute  farther  off,  were  too 
much  occupied  with  each  other  to  trouble  him, 
even  if  they  were  so  disposed,  and  the  loons  were 
only  water  fowl. 

"  But,  oh  dear  !  "  said  poor  Allan  to  himself. 
"  I  do  wish  they  would  hold  their  tongues ;  for  it 
does  seem  as  if  I  should  go  crazy.  If  we'd 
only  brought  the  dog ; "  and  with  that  Allan 
thought  of  his  own  beloved  little  Spry  at  home, 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  159 

the  tiny  spaniel  that  slept  on  his  bed,  and  regu- 
larly came  to  kiss  him  every  morning ;  and  the 
thought  was  almost  too  much  for  his  manhood. 
He  would  not  give  way,  however,  though  his 
overstrained  nerves  thrilled  and  quivered,  and 
his  excited  brain  worked  wildly,  presenting  to 
him  one  dismal  picture  after  another. 

"  I  'm  no  better  than  a  baby,"  said  the  boy, 
provoked  at  himself.  "  A  pretty  soldier  I  should 
make,  to  be  sure  !  " 

Allan  did  not  know  that  many  a  soldier  on  a 
night-watch  has  experienced  the  same  sensations. 
He  paced  to  and  fro,  and  wrapped  his  blanket 
round  his  shoulders  more  closely.  He  sat  down, 
and  pressed  his  hands  to  his  temples  to  still  their 
th  robbings. 

The  hours  crept  on,  and  it  was  midnight,  and 
Allan  felt  thankful  that  he  might  wake  his 
brother  and  hear  the  sound  of  his  voice.  Undis- 
turbed by  loons,  owls,  or  cats,  John  had  slept  on, 
hardly  moving.  Allan  bent  over  him,  and,  much 
as  he  longed  to  hear  him  speak,  felt  reluctant  to 
wake  him.  When  John  had  lain  down  in  his 
damp  clothes,  he  had  wrapped  his  warm  blanket 
closely  around  him,  and  being  in  a  great  degree 
sheltered  from  the  rain,  he  had  gradually  grown 
warm,  and    had   fallen    into   as    profuse   a   per- 


160  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

epiration  as  though  he  had  been  in  a  water-cure 
pack. 

"  If  he  gets  up  now,"  thought  Allan  to  him- 
self, "  and  conies  out  into  this  cold  air,  it  will  be 
enough  to  give  him  his  death ;  and  if  I  wake 
him,  why  get  up  he  will.  I  '11  let  him  sleep,  and 
stand  it  out  till  morning,"  and  with  an  unselfish- 
ness which  might  truly  be  called  heroic,  Allan 
rose  softly  from  his  brother's  side,  and  nervous, 
lonesome,  and  wretched  as  he  was,  prepared  to 
encounter  the  long  hours  that  must  pass  before 
the  dawn. 

As  he  paced  to  and  fro,  a  sudden  rustling  in 
the  thicket  startled  him,  and,  looking  up,  he 
saw  the  light  of  the  fire  reflected  on  two  green 
glaring  circles,  the  eyes  of  some  wild  beast. 

"An  owl,"  was  Allan's  first  thought,  deter- 
mined not  to  be  alarmed,  though  his  heart  beat 
fast.  The  next  moment  the  gaunt,  savage  head 
of  a  wolf  peered  cautiously  from  the  bushes. 

Like  many  people  of  sensitive  nerves  and 
strong  imagination,  Allau  had  great  presence  of 
mind  in  real  danger.  The  sight  of  the  wolf  at 
once  restored  him  to  himself.  He  caught  up  the 
powder-horn,  which  he  had  hung  round  his  neck, 
and,  pouring  some  of  the  powder  on  a  stone, 
touched  it  oif  with  a  coal  from  the  fire. 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  161 

The  wolf  vanished  in  an  instant,  and  Allan 
shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  flung  on  the 
fire  a  branch  of  hemlock  which  had  been  cut  the 
night  before  for  their  cabin. 

John  sprang  up  wide  awake  in  a  moment. 

"  What 's  the  matter?  "  he  said,  instantly  put- 
ting out  his  hand  for  his  lost  rifle. 

"  Nothing  much.  I  thought  I  saw  something 
in  the  bushes.  Lie  down  again,  and  cover  your- 
self up.  You  are  just  as  wet  as  if  you  had  been 
in  a  pack.  Now,  John,  do.  Suppose  you  were 
to  get  sick  here  ?  " 

"  Allan  Fitz  Adam  S "  said  John,  imperatively, 
"  tell  me  this  minute  what  made  you  touch  oif 
that  powder  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  you  will  know,  a  wolf  stuck  his 
head  out  of  that  bush.     He 's  gone  now." 

"  A  wolf!"  cried  John,  jumping  up. 

"  Do  keep  yourself  wrapped  up,  John,"  im- 
plored Allan.  "  Just  see  what  a  state  you  're  in, 
and  suppose  you  get  inflammation  of  the  lungs 
or  something,  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  fuss !  "  said  John,  wrapping  himself 
up,  however.  "How  wise  you  are  all  of  a 
sudden  !     Are  you  sure  it  was  a  wolf?  " 

"  Quite  sure.     I  thought  it  was  an  owl  till  I 

saw  his  head.   It  was  n't  handsome.  I  don't  think 
14*  L 


162  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

there  is  any  great  danger.  There  are  too  many 
deer  for  him  to  be  very  hungry ;  and  Michael 
says  they  are  not  dangerous,  unless  in  winter, 
and  a  good  many  of  them  together  ;  and  he  '11 
never  know  we  have  n't  got  a  gun.  If  we  'd  had 
any  fire  to  speak  of,  he  would  n't  have  shown 
himself." 

"  Well,  you  are  a  cool  hand !  "  said  John. 

"  It 's  a  cool  night,"  said  Allan,  smiling ;  "but 
I  've  had  the  fidgets  dreadfully,  I  can  tell  you ; 
and  I  tried  to  say  over  something  to  put  them 
out  of  my  head,  and  all  the  forlorn  pieces  of 
poetry  I  ever  read  kept  coming  up,  and  saying 
themselves  over  to  me,  like  the  Ancient  Mariner, 
and  things  I  had  n't  thought  of  for  years.  I  '11 
never  read  any  more  poetry  again,"  said  Allan, 
in  irritation.  "  What's  the  use  of  it?  A  lot  of 
stuff  strung  together  just  to  come  and  make  a 
fellow  miserable  when  he  don't  want  to  remem- 
ber it." 

"  It  must  be  time  for  my  turn  now,"  said 
John. 

"  Never  mind  if  it  is !  Lie  still  till  you  are 
quite  dry.  Keep  awake,  and  talk  if  you  like; 
but  I  am  sure  I  could  not  go  to  sleep  if  I  lay 
down." 

"  But   it   seems  so    mean,"    remonstrated   his 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  163 

brother,  "for  me  to  be  lying  here  warm  and 
comfortable,  and  you  out  there  in  the  wet." 

"  I  'm  not  so  wet  now.  I  think  the  rain  is 
holding  up ;  and  it  will  seem  a  good  deal  meaner, 
if  you  are  sick  ;  and  we  've  got  a  pretty  hard 
walk  before  us  to  get  back  to  camp." 

About  three  o'clock  John  insisted  on  getting 
up,  and  making  his  brother  lie  down.  In  spite 
of  his  "  fidgets,"  Allan  fell  asleep  in  a  few  min- 
utes. John  was  less  susceptible  than  his  brother ; 
but  when  the  long  hours  had  crept  on  in  dark- 
ness, he  was  not  sorry  to  see  the  first  streak  of 
dawn.  Gradually  the  mists  in  the  valley  lifted 
themselves  and  rolled  away;  the  mountain  tops 
came  out  through  the  folds  of  vapor,  and  the 
sunlight  fell  upon  the  lake. 

John  thougJit  he  would  let  his  brother  sleep 
for  a  while  longer.  He  cut  a  pole  in  the  wood, 
found  a  long  piece  of  string  in  his  pocket,  bent  a 
pin  for  a  hook,  and,  baiting  it  with  a  worm, 
betook  himself  to  fishing  in  the  lake  for  their 
breakfast. 

It  was  a  great  coming  down  from  his  usual 
style  of  angling  to  be  sure,  but  the  scientific 
sportsman  was  conquered,  or  rather  annihilated, 
by  the  hungry  boy. 

"  Not  to  leave  us  so  much  as  a  fish-hook ! " 


164  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

thought  John,  with  a  new  feeling  of  anger  at 
Sam ;  for  they  had  left  their  spare  hooks  and  Al- 
lan's precious  "  fly-book  "  in  the  pockets  of  their 
loose  shooting-coats,  which  they  had  thrown  aside 
on  going  to  rest,  and  the  robber  had  probably 
thought  it  a  pity  to  part  the  rods  and  the  hooks. 

The  trout,  however,  proved  not  particular,  and 
John  had  the  satisfaction  of  landing  three  moder- 
rate-sized  fish  with  his  primitive  apparatus.  Pres- 
ently he  was  joined  by  Allan,  who  looked  very 
pale  and  tired. 

"  Fishing  with  a  crooked  pin  !  "  he  said,  with  a 
faint  smile.    "  That 's  science  to  be  sure." 

"  No :  it 's  breakfast,"  said  John.  "  How  tired 
you  look !  I  do  wish  we  had  any  way  to  heat 
some  water  and  make  a  cup  of  coffee.  What  an 
idiot  I  am  to  be  sure !    We  've  got  our  tin  cups." 

"  So  we  have  ;  and  Sam  left  us  coffee  enough 
for  breakfast,  any  way.  How  considerate  !  Clean 
your  fish,  and  I  '11  heat  the  water  and  make 
what  we  can." 

While  they  were  preparing  their  scanty  meal, 
the  boys  kept  watch  on  the  entrance  to  the  lake, 
hoping  in  vain  to  see  their  father's  boat  glide 
round  the  turn. 

"  It 's  no  use  to  look  that  way,"  said  John, 
with  a  sigh.     "  Eat   your   breakfast,    and   then 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  165 

good-by  to  '  Lake  Lois.'  It 's  a  pretty  place,  but  I 
hate  it." 

To  John's  surprise,  Allan  sprang  up,  and 
stamped  his  foot  in  sudden  passion. 

"  John !  John !  "  he  said,  in  great  excitement. 
"  This  is  no  more  '  Lake  Lois '  than  it  is  Lake 
Leman !     I  know  it." 

"  Why,  how  ?  "  asked  John,  but  with  a  sudden 
conviction  that  his  brother  was  right. 

"That  was  between  three  hills.  Don't  you 
remember  the  three  sharp  peaks  he  showed  us 
from  the  hill-side  ?  He  did  tell  us  there  was  only 
one  carry ;  and  he  never  said  a  word  about  its 
being  three  and  a  half  straight,  and  longer  by 
the  stream;  and  I  no  more  believe  any  canoe 
ever  shot  those  falls  than  it  could  shoot  Niagara. 
Here  are  dozens  of  hills,  and  one  great  moun- 
tain, and  where  is  the  '  rocky  headland '  where 
he  said  he  meant  to  camp  ?  Here  we  are  flat  on 
the  shore." 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  John ;  "  and  we  went 
nearer  seven  miles  than  three  and  a  half." 

"  And  father  and  the  rest  will  have  gone  over 
there,  and  not  found  us ;  and  they'll  think  we  've 
broken  our  word,  and  run  off  somewhere  else; 
and  father  will  be  so  worried,"  said  Allan,  greatly 
troubled ;  "  and  they  '11  look  all  over  for  us." 


166  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Well,  we  can  tell  them  how  we  were  deceived, 
when  we  get  back,"  said  John.  "  But  I  'rn  glad 
to  know  the  state  of  the  case ;  for  now  I  need  n't 
think  anything  has  happened  to  father.  But 
what  in  the  world  did  that  fellow  lead  us  astray 
for?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,"  said  Allan,  with  a  full 
understanding  of  Sam's  yillany,  "  so  that  father 
and  Michael  should  n't  know  for  ever  so  long, 
and  he  get  the  start  of  them,  and  get  away." 

"  Oh,  he 's  a  nice  young  man ! "  said  John, 
bitterly. 

"  He 's  a  credit  to  his  sex !  "  said  Allan,  feeling 
that  he  had  said  something  very  severe  indeed. 
"  But  it  is  a  comfort  to  think  we  've  no  reason  to 
suppose  anything  has  happened  to  father ;  but, 
oh,  how  troubled  they  will  be  !  Michael  might 
well  say  that  boys  get  into  lots  of  scrapes  when 
they  go  off  by  themselves." 

"  It  all  comes  from  our  not  telling  about  my 
fall,"  said  John. .  "  I  '11  never  keep  anything 
away  from  my  father  again.     See  if  I  do." 

"  And  to  think  how  he  persuaded  us  not  to 
tell !  Do  you  think  he  could  have  been  planning 
it  then  ?  " 

"  I  've  not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  John,  with  de- 
cision ;  "  and  that  we  should  have  been  so  con- 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  167 

siderate  for  him  and  his  reputation,  and  walked 
into  the  trap  with  our  eyes  open." 

"  I  'in  afraid  it  was  n't  all  consideration  for 
him,"  said  Allan,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  I  'm  afraid 
I  thought  if  father  knew  how  careless  we  'd  been 
up  there  on  the  mountain,  he  would  n't  trust  us 
off  with  Sam  again." 

"  I  don't  know  but  there  was  a  little  something 
of  that  sort,"  acknowledged  John.  "  But  we  're 
punished  for  it  now." 

"  And  to  think  how  pleasant  he  was  that  day, 
and  all  the  time  he  was  planning  this  piece  of 
wickedness !  But,  John,  I  can  see  ever  so  many 
little  things  now.  His  always  wanting  to  get 
hold  of  your  gun ;  his  putting  it  into  our  heads  to 
come  away  by  ourselves ;  and  his  telling  us  that 
we  'd  better  take  off  our  coats  before  we  lay  down, 
and,  oh !  ever  so  many  things." 

"  I  can  see,  too,  now  it  \s  too  late ;  but  who 
ever  could  have  suspected  him  of  such  a  thing 
beforehand  ?  " 

"  I  do  wish  he  was  n't  so  bad,"  said  Allan, 
regretfully.  "  I  never  liked  any  boy  better  than 
I  did  him.  I  can't  bear  to  think  he  is  as  he 
is." 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  can  help  thinking  so," 
said  John,  who  felt  that  the  extremest  view  of 


168  THE   SILVER   RIFLE, 

Sam's  crime  justified  his  own  resentment.  "He's 
left  us  as  bad  off  as  we  can  be." 

"  No  j  we  might  be  worse." 

"  I  don't  see  how."  ' 

"  We  might  be  in  his  place  instead  of  our 
own.     I  'd  rather  be  where  we  are." 

"  That 's  so.  But  come,  if  we  've  finished 
breakfast,  we  '11  start.  Look  here,  Allan,  let 's 
leave  the  blankets :  they  are  such  heavy  things 
to  carry ;  and  we  can  get  them  again  when  we 
come  back  with  Michael." 

"  All  right,"  said  Allan,  approvingly  ;  for  he 
felt  that  it  would  take  all  his  strength  to  reach 
his  father's  camp  on  the  Saranac,  without  burden- 
ing himself  with  any  load.  "  We  've  nothing  else 
but  the  powder-horn  and  the  tin-cups.  Light 
marching  order,  to  be  sure." 

"  You  are  quite  certain  we  can  find  the  way?" 

"  Oh,  yes !  Why  not  ?  You  see  we  Ve  nothing 
to  do  but  to  follow  the  stream  up  till  we  come  to 
the  place  where  we  put  in  the  canoe.  I  'm  quite 
sure  I  remember  it ;  and  then  across  to  the  other 
stream  that  he  said  went  into  the  '  Lake  Lois/  and 
then  the  way  's  straight  enough." 

"  Very  well,"  said  John,  folding  up  the 
blankets,  and  hiding  them  away  in  the  bushes. 
"  Fortunately,  we  're   on  the  right  side  of   the 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  169 

stream,  and  sha'n't  have  to  swim  across.  Go 
ahead ! " 

The  boys  had  a  long  and  toilsome  walk  up  the 
solitary  stream. 

"There!"  said  Allan,  stopping  at  last.  "I 
am  sure  this  is  the  place  where  we  struck  the 
stream." 

"  Yes,"  said  John ;  "  I  remember  those  three 
big  pines,  and  that  pile  of  rocks,  that  you  said 
looked  like  a  Druid's  altar." 

They  struck  off  into  the  forest,  and  continued 
their  weary  way  through  the  deep,  dark  woods, 
dank  with  the  last  night's  rain. 

"  John,"  said  Allan,  at  last,  "  I  think  it 's  time 
we  heard  those  falls,  or  struck  the  stream." 

"  I  think  so  too.  I  wish  we  had  a  compass. 
There 's  no  seeing  the  sun  here." 

"  Well,  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  go  on,"  said 
Allan,  whose  weak  ankle  began  to  pain  him 
cruelly. 

A  few  minutes  more  and  the  brothers  found 
themselves  on  the  margin  of  a  deep  and  wide 
morass,  surrounded  by  barren,  lonely  hills. 

"  We  never  came  past  any  such  place  as  this," 
said  John. 

"  No,"  said  Allan  ;  "  I  don't  think  we  did  ; " 
15 


/ 


170  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

and  he  sat  down  on  a  stone,  utterly  tired  and  dis- 
couraged. 

John  walked  up  and  down,  pondering  their 
situation  in  his  own  mind. 

"  Brother,"  he  said,  finally,  "  I  tell  you  what 
we  VI  better  do.  We  'd  better  make  our  way 
back  to  that  lake  we  came  from,  and  stay  till 
they  come  after  us,  as  I  think  they  will  be  sure 
to  do.  We  left  our  blankets  there ;  and  I  guess 
we  can  get  fish  enough  to  live  on." 

"  Well,"  said  Allan,  "  that  will  be  best,  perhaps ;" 
and  he  rose,  though  his  heart  died  within  him  at 
the  thought  of  retracing  that  long,  weary  way. 

The  boys  turned  back,  as  they  supposed.  After 
a  few  steps,  John  noticed  that  Allan  walked 
lame. 

"  Your  ankle  hurts  you,  don't  it  ?  "  he  said,  in 
a  troubled  voice. 

"  Go  on,"  said  Allan,  trying  to  speak  cheer- 
fully, "  and  let 's  get  out  of  this  as  soon  as  we 
can." 

The  boys  went  on,  Allan's  ankle  paining  him 
more  and  more  at  every  step.  The  woods  grew 
darker  and  deeper.  There  was  no  trace  of  a 
path.  At  the  end  of  an  hour's  hard  labour,  they 
came  upon  a  little  stream,  which  they  followed 
through    a    rocky    channel    for    some    distance. 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  171 

Presently  they  heard  the  sound  of  falling  water, 
and,  with  some  faint  hope  that  they  might  have 
reached  the  falls  of  the  day  before,  they  hurried 
forward. 

They  found  themselves  standing  on  a  little 
rocky  platform,  from  which  the  stream  fell  a 
descent  of  a  few  feet,  and  beneath  them  lay  the 
same  wild  desolate  morass.  The  boys  looked  at 
each  other  in  horror. 

"  John,"  said  Allan,  turning  pale,  as  the  dread- 
ful suspicion,  which  had  been  growing  upon  his 
mind,  deepened  into  certainty.  "John,  we  are 
lost ! " 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   SEARCH. 

>Y  seven  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
after  the  boys  left  the  camp  on  the  Saranac, 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  Michael,  and  Dr.  Fenton  were 
on  their  way  to  "  Lake  Lois  :  "  Everard  remained 
behind  to  take  care  of  the  camp,  and,  being 
greatly  interested  in  a  sketch  he  was  making,  did 
not  care  to  join  the  expedition. 

The  way  to  "  Lake  Lois  "  was  by  the  stream  which 
the  boys  had  first  followed.  There  was  only  one 
carry,  that  around  the  fall  where  Sam  had  turned 
off;  for  not  the  boldest  boatman  on  the  lakes 
would  ever  have  dreamed  of  shooting  the  cata- 
ract. From  thence  a  mile  of  easy  paddling  led 
into  the  little  lake  among  the  three  hills. 

Michael  led  the  way  to  the  headland  of  which 
Sam  had  spoken ;  but  there  was  no  sign  of  a  camp  ; 
and  the  little  sheet  of  water,  shut  in  among  its 
mountains,  looked  as  though  no  paddle  had  ever 
before  broken  its  solitude. 

172 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  173 

"  Well,  now,  that  is  n't  right  in  Sam,"  said 
Michael,  displeased.  "He  told  ine  he'd  cer- 
tainly be  here ;  and  now  we  shall  have  to  go  all 
round  to  look  for  the  camp." 

"  I  don't  exactly  see  where  you  are  to  look," 
said  Dr.  Fenton,  surveying  the  whole  circle 
of  the  shore,  which  was  plainly  visible  from  the 
place  where  they  were.  "  I  see  no  sign  of  a 
camp  anywhere." 

"  No  more  there  is  n't,"  said  Michael ;  "  but 
maybe  they 've  gone  oif  into  the  woods  a  little  way, 
and  we  shall  find  the  boat  drawn  up  on  the  shore." 

The  party  made  the  circuit  of  the  lake,  grow- 
ing more  silent  and  anxious  every  minute  as  they 
found  no  sign  of  any  human  creature  having 
visited  the  place  that  year  at  least, 

"If  I  don't  give  it  to  Sam,"  said  Michael, 
sharply.     "  He  has  gone  oif  somewhere." 

"The  boys  should  have  known  better,"  said 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  at  once  displeased  and  anxious. 
"  I  charged  them  the  last  thing  to  go  nowhere 
else,  and  to  be  certain  to  make  their  camp  in  the 
appointed  spot." 

"  It  is  very  unlike  them  to  disobey  you,  Fitz," 
said  the  doctor ;  "  after   having  given  you  their 
word  so  particularly.     The  thing  troubles  me,  I 
confess." 
15* 


174  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Excuse  me,  squire,"  said  Michael,  resting  on 
his  paddle ;  "  but  I  'd  like  to  ask  you  one  ques- 
tion." 

"What  is  it,  Michael?" 

"  Were  the  young  gentlemen,  as  a  general 
thing,  given  to  minding  you ;  because  you  know 
all  boys  ain't?"  said  Michael,  apologizing  for 
such  an  inquiry. 

"  I  think  I  may  say  they  are,"  said  Mr.  Fitz 
Adam.  "  Since  they  were  large  boys,  I  cannot 
say  that  I  ever  knew  them  to  break  a  promise 
deliberately  given  to  me." 

"  That  is  certainly  so,"  said  Dr.  Fenton ; 
"and  I  remember  John  saying  the  last  thing, 
'  You  will  find  us  where  Sam  says  in  the  morn- 
ing/ It  would  have  been  very  wrong,  to  be 
sure,  but  I  wish  I  knew  for  certain  that  they 
had  forgotten  their  promise,  in  boyish  heedless- 
ness, and  gone  off  somewhere  else." 

"Where  could  they  -  go,  Michael  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Fitz  Adam,  who  began  to  feel  greatly  troubled. 
"  What  other  lake  is  there  ?  " 

"Well,  squire,  there's  a  great  many  other 
lakes.  There 's  one  leads  right  out  of  this ;  and 
then  there 's  two  more  little  ones  out  of  that ;  and 
then,  if  you  like  to  make  a  carry,  there 's  a  pretty 
considerable  big  one,  and  so  on." 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  175 

"  What  would  you  advise  ? "  said  Mr.  Fitz 
Adam. 

"  I  guess  we  'd  better  go  on  through  the  out- 
let," said  Michael,  sending  the  birch  canoe  for- 
ward again  with  rapid  strokes.  "  I  don't  know 
as  there's  any  particular  call  to  be  uneasy, 
squire,"  continued  the  guide,  who  at  heart  felt  a 
good  deal  troubled.  "  You  see,  your  boys  under- 
stand themselves  pretty  well,  and  so  does  Sam ; 
and  the  young  gentlemen  had  their  guns." 

"  Look  here,  Michael,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam ; 
"  tell  me  the  exact  truth.  What  do  you  think 
has  become  of  the  boys  ?  " 

"  Squire,"  answered  Michael.  "  The  fact  is,  I 
don't  know  what  to  think ;  but  if  Sam's  gone  and 
led  them  into  a  scrape  through  not  minding  me, 
if  I  don't  give  him  a  piece  "of  my  mind  when  I 
meet  him !  If  I  thought  anything  had  come  to 
your  boys,  I  'd  tell  you.  They  can  swim,  and, 
even  if  the  canoe  had  been  overturned,  it 's  next 
to  impossible  they  could  all  have  been  drowned. 
There 's  no  robbers  round  these  parts ;  and  no  wild 
critters  would  ever  have  attacked  and  carried  off 
the  three  of  them.    I  'm  puzzled,  I  confess." 

"  Suppose  we  do  not  find  them,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, "  in  any  of  these  places  where  you  are  taking 
us ;  what  will  you  do  ?  " 


176  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Michael,  "  I  'd  have  one 
of  you  gentlemen  go  back  to  '  Baker's,'  and  set 
all  the  men  I  could  find  looking  after  them;  and 
I  'd  take  to  the  woods  myself;  and  I  'd  never 
look  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  in  the  face  again  till  I 
could  bring  him  news  of  his  boys." 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  knew  that  Michael  regretted 
having  said  anything  to  forward  the  expedition. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  blame  you,  Michael," 
said  the  anxious  father.  "  The  boys  have  often 
been  out  by  themselves,  and  spent  a  night  in  the 
woods  about  their  grandmother's  home.  Tell  me, 
what  do  you  know  about  Sam  Irmelin  ?  " 

"  Nothing  against  him,  squire.  His  father  's 
a  respectable  man;  works  in  a  tannery  over  at 
Keeseville.  Sam 's  been  a  guide  here  for  the  last 
two  summers,  and  every  one 's  liked  him ;  and  he 
has  an  uncommon  knowledge  of  the  places  for 
such  a  young  fellow.  He  's  never  taken  a  party 
all  alone  on  his  own  responsibility ;  he  's  been 
with  some  of  the  older  men.  Old  George  Flint 
liked  him  first-rate,  only  he  said  Sam  was  just  a 
leetle  too  fond  of  money  ;  but  we  've  all  got  our 
faults.  Wherever  your  sons  are,  Sam  is,  you 
may  depend." 

"  Do  you  think  Sam  could  get  lost  himself?  " 

"  Not  unless  he  struck  off  into  some  part  of 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  177 

the  country  where  he  's  never  been ;  then  he 
might.  But  the  young  gentlemen  have  their 
guns  and  rods,  and  there  is  n't  any  starving  while 
there  's  fish  in  the  water." 

"  That 's  true,"  said  Dr.  Fenton,  a  little  com- 
forted. 

Vain  was  the  search  for  the  missing  boys 
through  the  little  chain  of  lakes  connected  with 
'  Lake  Lois/  Michael,  Dr.  Fenton,  and  Mr.  Fitz 
Adam  called,  and  shouted,  and  fired  their  guns 
repeatedly,  but  there  was  no  answer. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam 
at  last,  when  the  search  had  been  prolonged  until 
almost  nightfall. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Michael,  "  I  'm  really  afraid 
the  young  gentlemen  are  lost ;  though  how  they 
could  be,  passes  me  to  tell.  This  is  a  lonesome 
part  of  the  country  ;  and  not  but  very  few  hunt- 
ers come  here,  because  it 's  no  run  for  the  deer ; 
and  it's  out  of  the  way  of  the  gentlemen  that 
come  fishing.  It  beats  all,  that  Sam  can  have 
carried  them  so  far  off.  I  do  think  you  gentle- 
men, or  one  of  you  at  any  rate,  had  better  go  back 
to  '  Baker's,'  and  set  all  the  men  you  can  to  hunt- 
ing.    They  '11  do  it  willing  enough." 

"  I  '11  offer  a  reward,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 

"  No  need,  sir  ;  there  won't  be  a  soul  in  the 
M 


178  THE  SILVER   EIFLE. 

woods  that  won't  be  ready  to  do  all  they  can  for 
you,  and  will  soon  find  them.  Don't  you  be  afraid 
but  what  we  '11  have  them  back  to  camp  by 
morning.  'T  is  n't  as  if  they  were  just  helpless, 
shiftless  city  boys,  like  that  young  Marshall." 

"And  what  will  you  do?"  said  Dr.  Fenton. 

"  I,  sir?  I  '11  hunt  for  themKtwo  boys  till  I  'm 
gray,  but  I  '11  find  them,"  said  Michael,  with 
energy.  "  Dear  little  fellows  !  I  think  a  sight  of 
them  boys,  squire ;  and  I  wish,  as  things  have 
turned  out,  that  I  VI  been  deaf  and  dumb  before 
I  'd  said  what  I  did.  But  I  don't  really  think 
there 's  any  danger,  on  account  of  their  having  their 
guns.      If  they  had  n't,  I  should  feel  anxious." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam, 
who,  distressed  as  he  was,  kept  himself  very 
composed.  "  My  brother-in-law  will  go  back  to 
( Baker's.'     Offer  any  reward  you  like  from  me." 

"  I  will  join  you,  of  course,"  said  the  doctor, 
who  was  very  fond  of  his  nephews,  and  full  of 
anxiety  and  distress  on  their  account  and  sym- 
pathy for  his  friend. 

"  I  will  go  directly,"  he  said.  "  I  don't  really 
feel  that  there  is  any  reason  to  be  anxious." 

"  But  yet  we  all  are,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  with 
a  faint  smile.    "  You  '11  do  all  you  can,  I  know." 

"That  I  will.     God  bless  you,  Fitz;  we  shall 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  179 

have  John  and  Allan  all  safe  to-morrow  morning, 
and  laugh  at  our  fears  for  them.  We  will  meet 
at  the  camp,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Good-by,  and  God  keep  you  and  the  children, 
wherever  they  are!"  and  the  doctor  turned  his 
canoe  and  sent  it  flying  oif  over  the  water  with 
all  the  skill  of  a  practised  hand. 

"  And  now,  where  ?  "  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 

They  were  on  a  little  lake,  a  mere  pond  in  the 
midst  of  the  woods. 

"Well,  sir/'  said  Michael,  "if  you'll  be 
guided  by  me,  you  '11  come  on  shore,  and  let  me 
build  a  fire,  and  make  some  tea,  and  eat  a  bit  of 
supper.  We  've  had  a  long  day,  and  you  ;ve 
taken  nothing  since  morning ;  and  we  've  got  a 
long  walk  before  us." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam ; 
"  though  I  cannot  bear  to  be  still." 

"  We  '11  find  them,  squire,"  said  Michael,  cheer- 
fully. "And  if  we  don't,  other  folks  will.  The 
whole  country  '11  turn  out  to  look  for  them." 

Michael  built  a  fire  on  the  shore,  boiled  the 
water  in  the  kettle  he  had  brought,  and,  going 
out  on  the  lake,  caught  the  fish  for  supper  in  a 
few  minutes.  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  exerted  himself  to 
eat   something,  and  drank    some   tea,     Michael 


180  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

waited  on  him  with  unobtrusive  sympathy  and 
courtesy. 

"  Suppose  we  try  firing  again,"  said  Mr.  F'itz 
Adam,  as  they  were  about  to  set  out  once  more. 

"  You  can,  if  you  like,  squire,"  said  Michael ; 
and  then,  as  the  sharp  report  of  the  rifles  rang 
through  the  air,  two  shots  replied  to  the  sig- 
nal. 

Michael  shouted,  and  was  answered  by  a  long 
wild  call. 

"  That 's  not  them,  squire,"  said  Michael. 
"  It 's  some  of  the  Indian  hunters.  I  'm  glad  to 
meet  them,  though." 

The  call  sounded  again  nearer,  and  presently 
two  young  men  came  out  from  among  the  trees, 
dressed  in  deer-skin  hunting-shirts  and  leffgines, 
and  carrying  their  guns  over  their  shoulders. 

"  I  know  them,"  said  Michael.  "  It  \s  Peter 
Sanantone  (St.  Antoin),  and  his  brother.  Nice 
young  fellows,  too.  How  are  you,  boys  ?  Have 
you  seen  anything  of  Sam  Irmelin,  and  two  boys 
with  him  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  the  elder.  "What's  the 
matter  ?  " 

In  a  few  words  Michael  told  him,  and  asked 
his  help  in  finding  the  lost  ones. 

"  Of  course !  of  course  !  "  said  both  the  brothers, 


THE  SILVER  RIFLE.  181 

earnestly.  "  Your  sons  ?  "  asked  the  elder,  of 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 

"  Yes.  I  assure  you  I  will  make  it  worth  your 
while." 

"  Oh,  that 's  no  matter,"  said  the  younger,  with 
a  smile.     "  We  find  the  boys,  of  course." 

"  Guess  we  find  'em,"  said  Peter.  "  We  know 
the  woods  pretty  well." 

The  two  brothers  held  a  consultation  with 
Michael,  and  with  a  renewed  promise  to  Mr.  Fitz 
Adam  to  pursue  .the  search,  they  turned  away 
into  the  woods,  and  disappeared. 

"That's  good  help,  sir,"  said  Michael,  in  a 
tone  of  encouragement.  "  They  're  two  fine  fel- 
lows ;  though  they  will  drink  now  and  then,  but 
not  much  for  Indians." 

"  Have  you  any  idea  which  direction  the  boys 
could  have  taken  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 

"  No,  sir.  If  they  did  come  here,  it 's  a  very 
long  carry  to  the  next  lake,  and  a  hard  one.  I 
can't  think  they  'd  have  done  it ;  and  I  don't  see 
how  they  could,  not  unless  they  travelled  all  last 
night.  There 's  another  lake  off  that  way,  if  we 
go  to  the  one  they  called  'Lake  Lois.'  Called  it 
after  their  grandmother,  they  did.  I  hope  the 
old  lady  won't  hear  anything  about  it  till  it 's 
over." 

16 


182  THE   SILVEE    RIFLE. 

' 1 1  hope  not,  for  they  are  very  dear  to  her," 
said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  with  a  thrill  at  the  thought 
of  what  he  might  have  to  write  to  his  mother-in- 
law.    "How  far  is  it  to  this  lake  you  speak  of?" 

"It's  all  of  twelve  hours' journey  from  here, 
and  a  hard  road.  I  have  n't  been  over  it  in  years ; 
and  I  don't  think  there 's  any  likelihood  of  their 
being  there.  I  'd  rather  keep  on  a  little  more  to 
northward,  sir,  if  you  are  agreeable.  There 's  a 
wonderful  good  place  for  trout  up  among  the 
hills,  a  few  miles  farther  on ;  and  it 's  just  possible 
we  may  find  them  there." 

They  reached  the  lake,  or  rather  pond,  to  which 
Michael  had  referred,  by  a  little  after  midnight. 
They  found  there  a  hunter's  camp  occupied  by 
three  men,  who  all  declared  that  they  had  seen 
and  heard  nothing  of  the  boys  or  Sam  Irmelin. 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  was  worn  out  with  fatigue, 
anxiety,  and  grief,  and  the  failure  of  this  last 
hope  was  very  hard  to  bear.  He  sat  down,  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  The  men  around 
him  exchanged  glances  of  sympathy  and  pity. 

"  Now,  look  here,  sir,"  said  one,  a  wiry,  gray- 
haired  old  man,  with  a  face  like  a  polished  brown 
knot  of  wood,  "  you  are  about  beat  out,  you  and 
Michael ;  and  no  wonder !  Just  you  stay  here 
and  rest ;  and  we  '11  turn  out  and  hunt  different 


THE  SILVER  KIFLE.  183 

ways.  It 's  uncommon  strange  about  Sam 
Irmelin." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam.  "  I  be- 
lieve I  must  accept  your  kindness  for  the  present. 
Any  reward  that  I  can  offer  —  " 

"  Bless  you,  sir,"  said  the  old  man,  "  nobody 
would  ask  a  reward  for  helping  a  man  to  find  his 
children  !    I  've  got  boys  myself." 

"  Were  your  sons  about  fifteen  or  seventeen,  or 
along  there  ?  "  asked  another.  "  One  of  them 
black  hair  and  eyes,  and  the  other  kind  of  light 
complected  and  curly,  fair  hair  ?  ". 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam ;  "  have  you  seen 
them?" 

"  I  saw  them  at  i  Baker's,'  sir.  Nice  boys  they 
are,  too.  One  of  them  had  old  Mr.  De  Forest's 
silver  rifle.  Ezra,"  said  the  hunter,  turning  to 
his  companion,  who  had  not  yet  spoken,  "you  re- 
member the  old  gentleman?" 

"  Yes.     Any  relation  of  his,  sir  ?  " 

"  He  was  my  old  friend,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 
"  He  left  his  rod  and  rifle  to  my  boys." 

"  All  right,  sir ! "  said  the  old  man.  "  Any 
of  the  boys  'round  will  do  all  they  can  for  any 
friend  of  the  old  gentleman's.  Michael,  there 's 
the  coffee  and  stuff;  make  yourself  and  the  gen- 
tleman to  home.     Keep  a  good  heart,  sir ;  and  I 


184  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

hope  we  '11  get  track  of  your  sons.  Come  along, 
boys." 

The  men  called  their  dogs,  and  went. 

Worn  out  as  he  was  with  fatigue  and  anxiety, 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep,  which 
lasted  till  morning. 

The  boys  had  left  their  father's  camp  at  about 
one  o'clock,  p.m.,  on  Tuesday.  It  was  now  Thurs- 
day morning :  one  of  the  three  hunters  returned 
about  nine  o'clock,  and  reported  that  he  had  seen 
and  heard  nothing  of  the  missing  ones  ;  and  that 
he  thought  it  -useless  to  prosecute  the  search 
farther  to  the  north.  They  had  hitherto  worked 
on  the  theory  that  the  party  must  have  gone  from 
the  Saranac  to  "  Lake  Lois ; "  but  Michael  now  be- 
gan to  think  that  such  could  not  have  been  the 
case. 

"  There  is  a  lake,"  said  the  guide,  "  about  four 
miles  south-west  of  the  one  they  set  out  for  ;  but 
I  can't  think  they  would  have  gone  to  it  from 
there,  for  it's  a  hard  road,, — two  big  hills  to  climb" 
and  go  down  ;  and  they  never  would  have  taken 
the  canoe.  But  if  they  turned  off  at  the  falls, 
it 's  a  half  a  mile  carry,  and  a  pretty  rough  one, 
to  a  stream  that  runs  into  the  lake.  But  what 
should  take  them  there  ?  " 

"  What  should  take  them  anywhere  but  to  the 


THE  SILVER  RIFLE.  185 

place  they  promised  to  go?"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 
"  Let  us  go  to  this  lake,  Michael,  and  see  what 
we  can  find." 

"  I  guess  we  might  as  well,  squire ;  though 
the  shortest  way,  but  not  the  nearest,  will  be  to  go 
back  to  the  falls,  and  turn  off.  I  expect  there  's 
parties  out  looking  for  them  now  that  we  don't 
know  of.  You  would  n't  think  news  would  go 
in  this  country,  but  it  does  some  way;  and  I 
would  n't  wonder  at  all  if  it  got  to  '  Baker's '  be- 
fore Dr.  Fenton  did." 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  and  Michael  turned  back,  and 
retraced  their  way  to  the  falls.  The  rain  which 
had  fallen  had  quite  obliterated  any  trace  which 
Michael  might  otherwise  have  noticed. 

It  was  five  o'clock  on  Thursday  evening  before 
he  and  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  reached  the  camp  which 
the  boys  had  left  in  the  morning.  It  looked 
dreary  enough.  The  black  embers  of  the  extin- 
guished fires  lay  before  the  little  shelter  of  boughs 
and  beneath  the  overhanging  rock  where  John 
and  Allan  had  passed  the  second  night.  The 
extempore  fishing-pole,  with  its  string  and  crook- 
ed pin,  lay  on  the  ground. 

"  Can  this  have  been  their  camp  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Fitz  Adam. 

Michael    replied     by    holding   up    the    two 

16  * 


186  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

blankets  which  he  'had  found  hidden  in  the 
bushes. 

"  Don't  these  belong  to  our  young  gentle- 
men ?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  recognized  them  in  a  moment. 
They  were  crimson  Mackinaw  blankets,  fine,  soft, 
and  thick.  The  words,  "  Know  now  whether  it 
be  thy  son's  coat  or  not,"  came  into  his  mind. 

"  I  bought  those  myself,"  he  said.  "  There  is 
the  mark  on  the  corner.     J.  F.  A." 

"  Well,  it  passes  me  what  to  think,"  said 
Michael.  "  Why  did  they  leave  their  blankets? 
and  where  is  Sam's  ?  " 

"  And  why  should  they  be  fishing  with  a 
crooked  pin  and  a  worm  ?  " 

"  As  to  that,  Sam  left  his  rod ;  and  he  may 
have  fixed  that  up  just  to  see  what  he  could  do 
with  such  a  contrivance." 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  walked  up  and  down,  consider- 
ing the  case  in  his  own  mind.  He  was  a  lawyer, 
accustomed  to  weighing  and  comparing  evidence. 
A  sort  of  suspicion  of  the  truth  began  to  grow 
upon  him. 

Michael  carefully  examined  the  traces  the  boys 
had  left  behind  them, —  the  blackened  circles  and 
ashes,  the  fishing-pole,  the  little  cabin,  and  the 
two  couches  of  hemlock,  now  damp  and  sodden, 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  187 

on  which  John  and  Allan  had  passed  their  first 
night. 

"  I  'm  pretty  sure,"  said  he,  at  last,  "  that  there 
were  three  people  here  Tuesday  night,  and  only 
two  last  night.  And  what  puzzles  me  is,  that  this 
lire  here  by  the  shelter  was  a  regular  big,  respect- 
able camp  fire,  such  as  Sam  would  build  ;  and 
this  was  just  a  kind  of  blaze  made  with  small 
branches,  and  such  as  any  one  could  pick  up ;  and 
here's  bits  of  such  wood  lying  by  it,  and  this 
young  hemlock  cut  with  a  knife  and  not  an  axe  ; 
and  here's  the  same  thing  again;  and  here's 
where  a  tree  was  cut  down  with  an  axe." 

"That  might  be,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 
"  The  children  would  naturally  take  their  knives 
to  help  Sam." 

"Oh,  but  you  see,  squire,  the  tree  was  cut 
down  all  of  twenty-four  hours  the  first.  I  know 
because  of  the  wood  turning  colour  so  much  more. 
I  'm  dreadful  afraid  the  folks  that  built  that  second 
fire  had  n't  no  axe ;  no,  nor  yet  no  rods." 

"  Where  do  you  think  the  canoe  is  ? "  asked 
Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  whose  suspicions  grew  stronger ; 
but  who  did  not  care  to  express  them  till  he  had 
heard  Michael's  opinion. 

Michael  sat  down,  and  began  to  whittle  a  little 
stick  quite  furiously. 


188  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"I  can't  just  say,"  he  answered.  "You  see, 
the  rain  and  the  lake  washing  up  has  smoothed 
out  all  the  tracks  on  the  sand  and  the  marks  of 
the  canoe.  You're  used  to  putting  things  to- 
gether, squire.     What  do  you  make  of  it  ?  " 

"  I  begin  to  fear,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  in  a 
low  voice,  "  that  there  has  been  something  worse 
than  we  have  imagined.  I  fear  that  there  has 
been  treachery." 

"  It  does  look  bad,"  said  Michael,  in  a  troubled 
voice.  "  I  'm  nigh  about  sure  Sam  was  n't  here 
last  night,  and  I  'in  pretty  certain  your  sons  were. 
But  I  hate  to  think  the  boy  could  be  so  awful 
mean  as  to  run  off  and  leave  them.  And  what 
had  he  to  gain  by  it  ?  " 

"  Their  guns  and  rods,  and  the  silver  rifle," 
said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 

"  If  he 's  done  that,"  said  Michael,  striking  the 
butt  of  his  gun  fiercely  on  the  ground ;  "  if  he 's 
done  that,  he  '11  find  it 's  the  worst  day's  work  he 
ever  did  in  his  life.  If  it 's  that,  squire,  depend 
upon  it  he  's  led  them  wrong  on  purpose,  and  told 
them  they  were  coming  to  '  Lake  Lois.'  He  might 
call  this  one  by  that  name  just  as  well  as  another." 

The  more  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  thought  of  the 
matter,  the  stronger  did  the  probability  of  Sam's 
treachery  appear. 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  189 

"  And  the  boys  would  expect  us,  and  wait  for 
us  all  day  Wednesday,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  which 
he  tried  in  vain  to  render  steady ;  "  and  they 
were  here  alone,  unarmed,  in  the  midst  of  all  that 
rain,  and  have  tried  to  find  their  way  back  to 
camp  and  been  lost  in  the  woods,  unprovided 
with  anything." 

"  Well,  squire,"  said  Michael,  "  it 's  a  thing 
that  won't  bear  thinking  on.  We  won't  condemn 
Sam  till  we  know ;  but  I  'm  awful  afraid  there  's 
some  truth  in  what  you  think." 

The  old  guide  neither  swore  nor  exclaimed. 
His  ordinarily  good-natured  face  grew  stern  and 
cold.  He  looked  carefully  to  his  rifle,  and  made 
sure  that  his  pistols  were  loaded.  His  mouth 
was  set,  his  gray  eyes  shone  bright.  He  looked 
decidedly  dangerous. 

"  I  guess,"  said  he,  quietly,  "  that  if  I  should 
catch  that  young  man  with  that  rifle,  I  should 
make  things  unpleasant  for  him." 

This  threat  does  not  sound  very  awful  in 
words,  but  the  manner  was  everything. 

"  Take  care  what  you  do,  Michael,"  said  Mr. 
Fitz  Adam.    "  The  first  thing  is  to  find  the  boys." 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid,  squire,"  returned 
Michael.  "  I  'm  a  law-abiding  citizen,  I  am,  and 
I  expect  to  stay  so.     But  we  guides  and  hunters 


190  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

have  got  our  own  laws  too;  and  if  Sam  Irme- 
lin  has  done  this  thing,  he'll  stand  a  first-rate 
good  chance  to  find  out  what  we  mean  by  them. 
I  think,  sir,  I  '11  go  back  to  camp  after  the  dogs. 
I  wish  I  'd  had  them  with  us  to  start  with.  If 
there 's  a  dog  can  follow  their  trail,  it  will  be  my 
old  Sport," 

"  See ! "  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  starting.  "  There 's 
two  canoes  now  coming  up  the  lake." 

The  boats  drew  nearer.  One  contained  Peter 
Sanautone  and  his  brother.  The  other  canoe, 
which  Michael  instantly  i^ecognized  as  his  own, 
was  paddled  by  an  old  Indian. 

"  That 's  old  Tin  Kettle,  over  from  Chateau 
Gay,"  said  Michael.  "He's  one  of  the  know- 
ingest  old  fellows  there  is  anywhere;  but  I 
haven't  seen  him  round  these  parts  for  along 
time.     But  what's  he  doing  with  my  boat ? " 

"This  yours?"  called  the  younger  Sanantone, 
the  moment  they  were  within  hail. 

"  Yes ;  where  did  you  find  it  ?  " 

"  Hid  in  ?e  bushes  .  t'other  end  lake,"  said 
the  old  Indian,  in  the  softest,  sweetest  voice. 
"You  no  find  your  boys  yet?"  he  asked  Mr. 
Fitz  Adam,  gently. 

"  No,  not  yet,"  he  answered,  with  a  sigh. 
"  We  have  found  their  camp." 


ffiljE  Silfarr  J&tfle. 


"  Vou  no  find  your  boys  yet?"  p.  iflo. 


THE   SILVER   EIFLE.  191 

The  two  boats  drew  up  on  the  shore,  and 
the  Indians  got  out. 

"  Look  here,  men,"  said  Michael ;  "  you 
would  n't  believe  it ;  but  the  fact  is,  we  're  afraid 
there  's  been  foul  play." 

"  Me  know  it,"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  tone  of 
quiet  conviction. 

"He's. got  a  story  to  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Peter 
Sanantone,  respectfully,  to  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 

It  appeared  that  Tin  Kettle  had  been,  on 
Wednesday  morning,  coming  through  the  woods 
to  the  south  of  the  lake,  where  the  party  then 
was.  That  on  the  way  he  had  met  a  boy  whom 
all  recognized  by  his  description  as  Sam  Irmeljn. 
He  had  carried,  besides  a  rifle  very  much  orna- 
mented with  silver,  a  second  and  lighter  one,  tied 
together  with  two  well-made  fishing-rods,  over 
his  shoulder.  The  Indian  had  asked  him  how 
he  came  to  be  so  well  provided ;  and  Sam  had 
told  him  that  the  guns  and  rods  belonged  to  a 
party  of  gentlemen  on  Racket  River,  who  had 
sent  him  over  to  the  Saranac  for  these  things, 
which  they  had  left  in  possession  of  some  friends 
with  whom  they  had  parted  at  "  Baker's."  Tin 
Kettle,  who  had  seen  Mr.  De  Forest  several 
times,  had  recognized  the  silver  rifle,  which  he 
greatly  admired,  and  had  been  told  by  Sam  that 


192  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

it  now  belonged  to  a  young  gentleman,  a  relation 
of  Mr.  De  Forest's. 

"  So  then  he  say  in  a  hurry,  and  go  on  ;  and 
me  come  this  way,"  concluded  the  old  man. 
"  Then  me  meet  the  boys,  and  they  tell  me  story. 
Then  me  know  he  'teal  him  rifle.  Wish  me 
shoot  him,"  concluded  the  Indian,  not  angrily, 
but  rather  as  one  who  regrets  having  neglected  a 
duty. 

"  Oh,  that  would  n't  do  at  all,"  said  Peter  San- 
antone,  who  could  speak  good  English  if  he 
chose,  and  was  of  the  new  generation.  But,  on 
the  whole,  Peter  seemed  to  be  rather  sorry  than 
otherwise  that  it  would  not  do. 

Tin  Kettle  only  uttered  a  contemptuous  grunt 
in  reply. 

Michael  and  the  two  guides  were  very  bitter 
against  Sam.  It  was  not  only  the  utter  mean- 
ness and  heartlessness  of  his  crime,  but  the  slur 
on  their  profession  which  they  resented. 

Among  the  guides  of  that  region  there  might 
possibly  be  found  those  who  would  now  and  then 
shirk  their  duties,  or  tell  rather  large  stories,  or 
lead  the  inexperienced  away  from,  rather  than  to- 
ward, those  deer  which  they  preferred  to  shoot 
themselves.  But,  as  a  rule,  they  were  and  are  a 
very  respectable,  honest  set  of  men ;  and  they  were 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  193 

full  of  wrath,  uot  only  at  the  injury  done  to  their 
professional  reputation,  but  at  the  baseness  of  a 
member  of  their  class. 

The  younger  Sanantone  and  old  Tin  Kettle 
set  off  instantly  in  pursuit  of  the  culprit,  while 
Peter  and  Michael  remained  to  prosecute  the 
search  for  the  boys.  Sanantone  had  his  dog 
with  him;  but  Michael  would  fain  have  gone 
back  for  old  Sport,  on  whose  sagacity  and  ex- 
perience he  greatly  relied.  Sanantone,  however, 
like  every  young  man,  firmly  believed  that  his 
dog  could  do  anything  that  any  other  dog  could 
do.  To  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  every  minute  seemed 
an  hour ;  and  Michael  did  not  like  to  insist  on 
a  delay  which  he  did  not  feel  to  be  absolutely 
necessary. 

Sanantone  made  the  dog,  a  fine,  intelligent- 
looking  hound,  smell  at  the  blankets,  and  talked 
to  him  in  a  language  which  the  creature  seemed 
to  understand.  He  sniffed,  and  snuffed,  and 
whimpered,  and  ran  hither  and  thither,  and 
finally,  with  one  ringing  bark,  sprang  forward  on 
the  trail. 

17  N 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LOST    IX    THE    WILDERNESS, 

WHEN  John  and  Allan  first  made  the  dis- 
covery that  they  were  lost,  they  had  been 
overcome  by  the  sense  of  their  desolate  condition. 
Tired  out,  and  almost  awe-struck  in  the  midst 
of  the  wild  solitude,  they  had  dropped  down  on 
the  little  rocky  ledge  overhanging  the  morass, 
and,  with  their  arms  round  each  other,  had 
remained  for  a  few  minutes  silent  in  grief  and 
dismay. 

But  the  two  Fitz  Adams  were  not  boys  to  sit 
helplessly  down  and  starve  to  death  in  the  wil- 
derness without  an  effort  to  save  themselves. 
Allan  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  There  's  no  good  in  this,"  he  said,  with  deci- 
sion.    "  What 's  to  do  next  ?  " 

"  We  can  go  no  farther  to-night,"  said  John. 
"  I  'm  tired  out,  and  you  're  lame.  Does  your 
ankle  hurt  you  very  much  ?  " 

"  No,  nothing  to  speak  of,"  said  Allan,  bravely 

194 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  195 

trying  to  suppress  all  signs  of  the  pain,  which 
was  growing  sharper  every  moment. 

"  It  ?s  a  good  deal  to  feel,  though,"  said  John, 
looking  at  his  brother  more  attentively.  "  It 's 
half  killing  you." 

"  It 's  worse  now  I  've  stopped  walking.  Don't 
fret,  John.  I  tell  you  what:  just  wet  my  hand- 
kerchief in  the  brook,  and  take  off  my  boot  if 
you  can,  and  the  sock,  and  wrap  the  wet  cloth 
round ;  and  I  '11  cover  it  up  warm  with  my  coat, 
and  give  it  a  pack,  and  it  will  be  all  right  soon." 

John  obeyed  his  directions,  only  that  he  took 
off  his  own  coat  to  wrap  over  the  wet  bandage, 
and  then  sat  down  holding  his  brother's  head  on 
his  knee. 

"  We  've  got  to  stay  here  all  night,  for  all  I 
see,"  he  said.  "  Somebody  will  be  out  after  us 
before  this  time,  and  will  find  us  after  awhile,  I 
dare  say." 

Allan  thought  of  more  than  one  story  that  he 
had  heard  of  children  who,  lost  in  the  woods,  had 
never  been  seen  again,  in  spite  of  all  the  search- 
ing parties  sent  out ;  but  very  wisely  he  kept  the 
remembrance  to  himself.  He  was  one  of  those 
persons  who  come  out  strong  in  emergency  or 
danger.  A  troublesome  lesson,  a  cold  in  his 
head,  some   little    annoyance  or  disappointment, 


196  THE   SILVER    RIFLE, 

would  make  him  fume  and  fret  and  scold.  But 
when  seriously  ill  he  was  quite  a  model  of  pa- 
tience, and  now  that  helpless,  unarmed,  and  suf- 
fering he  was  lost  in  the  wilderness,  he  was  calm, 
self-possessed,  and  did  not  utter  a  word  of  com- 
plaint. 

"  We  'd  better  take  stock,"  said  John,  "  and 
see  what  we  've  got  between  us." 

The  boys  took  out,  and  laid  on  the  rock,  all 
the  contents  of  their  pockets,  which  proved  to  be 
as  follows  : 

Two  hard  biscuits.  One  little  flat  cushion  full 
of  different  sized  pins,  which  Jeanette  had  given 
John  on  his  going  away  from  home.  Allan  had 
had  one,  too,  but  had  lost  it.  Two  pocket-knives, 
one  good  large  jack-knife,  the  other  smaller. 
Two  pocket-book  diaries,  kept  at  most  irregular 
intervals,  containing  a  little  loose  change,  and  a 
lock  of  their  dead  mother's  beautiful  long  hair. 
Two  lead-pencils,  and,  to  the  boys'  great  delight, 
Allan  found  one  small  fish-hook  in  the  bottom 
of  his  pocket.  One  small  tin  box  containing 
twenty-five  matches. 

"  We  must  be  very  careful  of  them,"  said 
Allan,  "  for  they  are  what  we  shall  have  to 
depend  upon.  John,  I  am  ever  so  hungry.  Do 
you  think  we  might  eat  these  two  biscuits?" 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  197 

"  Break  one  in  two,  and  keep  the  other  for 
morning,"  said  John,  again  packing  up  their 
small  possessions.  "There's  no  trout  in  that 
brook,  I  know,"  he  added,  looking  with  disgust 
at  the  stream  which  trickled  at  their  feet.  It 
was  not  a  dancing,  leaping  mountain  brook  of 
clear,  sparkling  water.  It  soaked  down  black 
and  impure  from  a  bog  higher  up  on  the  hill-side, 
and  found  its  fitting  grave  in  the  marsh  beneath. 
The  place  where  the  boys  found  themselves  was 
inexpressibly  wild  and  dreary.  At  their  feet  lay 
the  dreary  morass,  a  wide  expanse  of  sullen  pools 
of  dark  water,  blue-green  flag  beds  and  black 
mud,  looking  like  a  ruined  lake. 

"  This  is  a  horrid  place,"  said  John,  with  a 
little  shudder.  "  Well,  I  may  as  well  make  the 
fire,  but  these  wet  things  will  be  hard  to  burn. 
Plow  sorry  I  am  we  left  the  lake." 

"  Yes,  we  're  like  '  poor  Thomas  '  that  '  went 
from  bad  to  worse,'  "  said  Allan.  "  How  sorry 
I  am  we  left  the  blankets.  They  'd  feel  good 
now." 

"  Well,  there 's  plenty  of  dry  wood  at  all 
events,"  said  John,  looking  at  the  only  advantage 
their  situation  afforded ;  and  he  rose  and  began  to 
gather  the  dead  branches  for  their  fire,  and  soon 
had  a  crackling,  roaring  blaze. 
17* 


198  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  This  is  good/'  said  Allan,  holding  his  chilled 
hands  over  the  flame.  "  You  '11  have  to  be 
watchman  to-night,  John,  for  I  can't  walk  now ; 
but  I  can  keep  up  the  fire.  Let  us  have  half  a 
biscuit,  since  that 's  all  we  've  got." 

The  boys  shared  their  scanty  meal,  and  reso- 
lutely put  the  other  biscuit  away  for  morning. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  John.  "  I  don't  wonder 
people  steal  when  they  are  hungry." 

"  Nor  I,"  replied  Allan.  "  It 's  growing  dark 
again,  is  n't  it  ?  It  seems  like  three  years  since 
we  left  the  camp.  If  we  only  had  our  guns,  I 
would  not  mind  half  so  much." 

"  No.  We  could  provide  for  ourselves  then," 
said  John.  "  Have  you  the  least  idea  which  way 
we  are  from  the  Saranac  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Allan.  "We've  twisted 
about  so;  but  I  certainly  thought  we  knew  where 
to  turn  off  there  by  the  three  pines  and  the  rocks; 
but  then  there  are  a  great  many  pines  and  rocks 
in  this  country." 

"And  we  were  talking  and  laughing  so  when  we 
came  along  that  we  never  noticed  the  way  much," 
said  John. 

"  What  a  noise  the  frogs  make  in  the  marsh," 
said  Allan ;  and  indeed  the  air  rung  with  the 
clamour  of  voices,  from  the  deep  bass  of  the  bull- 
frog to  the  shrill  treble  of  the  smaller  species. 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  199 

"I  wish,"  said  John,  "that  I  didn't  keep 
thinking  all  the  time  about  all  the  things  I  've 
ever  had  to  eat.  I  can  just  see  the  dining-room 
there  at  Saratoga,  and  how  nice  everything  was." 

" Saratoga!"  cried  Allan,  suddenly  raising  him- 
self from  the  ground.  "  Why,  John,  look  here. 
Don't  you  remember  how  the  waiter  brought  us 
frogs,  and  how  good  they  were.  It  was  the  legs," 
cried  Allan,  in  a  state  of  great  excitement;  "and 
father  said  it  was  only  the  big  green  ones  that 
people  ate." 

"So  he  did,"  said  John,  jumping  up  ;  "and 
when  we  were  at  Lake  George,  I  saw  a  boy  get- 
ting them  in  the  marsh,  for  the  hotel.  I  know 
what  kind  they  were.  I  '11  go  after  some  straight, 
before  it  gets  quite  dark.  Give  us  a  sharp  stick ; 
and  you  sit  still.  Hurrah  !  we  '11  have  some  sup- 
per after  all."  John  soon  found  a  weapon,  and 
with  some  difficulty  descended  to  the  level  of  the 
morass.  Allan  leaned  anxiously  over  the  rock 
and  watched  him. 

"  Take  care  you  don't  get  mired,"  he  called. 

"  I  will.  There's  lots  of  them  here;  but  the 
thing  is  to  catch  them." 

John  found  it  much  more  difficult  than  he  had 
expected  to  catch  the  frogs.  They  were  very 
nimble,  and  quite  at  home  in  the  marsh,  whereas 


200  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

he  could  hardly  make  his  way,  and  was  in  con- 
stant dread  of  losing  his  footing. 

At  the  end  of  half  an  hour,  however,  he  re- 
turned, having  killed  six  frogs.  The  boys  cooked 
the  hind  legs  —  the  only  part  that  is  eaten  —  by 
toasting  them  on  the  coals.  They  were  not  pre- 
pared or  served  up  in  Saratoga  style ;  but  they 
were  food,  and  tasted  very  good  to  the  hungry 
boys,  who  had  eaten  nothing  since  morning  but 
half  a  biscuit. 

As  Allan  was  picking  out  the  last  little  bone, 
he  suddenly  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Well,  it 's  you  to  find  amusement,"  said 
John.     "What's  the  joke?" 

"  Only  I  was  thinking  of  the  difference  between 
this  and  Saratoga.  That  great  dining-room,  and 
all  the  black  waiters  in  their  white  jackets,  and 
the  ladies  in  their  fine  things,  and  the  tables  set 
so  elegantly;  and  now  here  we  are  sitting  among 
the  stones  picking  away  at  the  bones,  —  which  is 
verse,  though  such  was  n't  my  intention." 

"  Well,  if  I  ever  go  there  again,  I  '11  give  that 
waiter  something  handsome ;  for  it  was  his  bring- 
ing the  frogs'  legs  to  us  that  day  that  made  us 
think  of  it.  They  are  not  bad  little  birds,  at  all. 
The  frogs,  I  mean,  not  the  waiters." 

"  No,  indeed  ;  only  there  is  n't  quite  enough  of 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  201 

them.  I  'd  have  caught  some  more,  only  I  was 
so  hungry.  Come,  Allan,  pick  out  a  soft  stone, 
and  go  to  sleep  if  you  can.  I  'm  going  to  sit  up 
to-night,  and  keep  up  the  fire.  I  '11  go  and  get 
some  more  wood." 

John  collected  a  large  quantity  of  the  dry 
wood,  and  then  the  two  boys  knelt  together  on 
the  stones  and  repeated  their  usual  evening 
prayer.  They  asked  for  deliverance  and  protec- 
tion in  all  dangers  of  the  coming  night,  and  com- 
mended themselves  to  the  care  of  their  heavenly 
Father.  Allan  lay  down  as  near  the  fire  as  he 
could,  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep,  but  almost  in 
vain.  The  night  was  chilly,  and  they  had  no 
covering  but  their  coats.  Allan's  ankle  pained 
him ;  but  he  would  not  complain.  The  frogs, 
and  the  owls  from  the  woods,  filled  the  air  with 
their  wild  cries  ;  and  in  the  dreary  solitude  in 
which  they  found  themselves,  the  boys  felt  as  if 
shut  out  from  the  living  world. 

It  was  a  long,  weary  night.  Toward  morning 
Allan  did  fall  into  a  troubled  sleep.  John,  after 
a  desperate  effort  to  keep  awake,  yielded  at  last  to 
fatigue,  and  fell  fast  asleep  by  his  brother's  side. 
Nothing,  however,  came  near  to  harm  the'  two 
boys,  and  it  was  bright  morning  when  they  both 
awoke,  roused  by  a  wild  scream  from  overhead. 


202  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

John  sprang  up  rubbing  his  eyes,  wakened 
from  a  dream  of  home  to  find  himself  in  the 
lonely  wilderness.  The  noise  which  had  roused 
him  was  the  shriek  of  an  eagle  which  had  been 
flying  round  and  round  above  their  heads  in 
ever  narrowing  circles.  As  John  sprang  up,  the 
great  bird  rose  and  sailed  away  over  the  hills. 

John  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  He  can  fly,  and  we  can't.  It 's  too  bad  !  It 's 
too  hard  !     Oh,  father !  father  !  " 

Allan  put  his  arms  round  his  brother  and 
kissed  him. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  what  that  makes 
me  think  of?  How  He  said,  '  Foxes  have  holes, 
and  the  birds  of  the  air  have  nests ;  but  the  Son 
of  man  hath  not  where  to  lay  his  head.'  He 
knows  how  we  feel." 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  sadly ;  "  but  his  Father  was 
always  with  Him." 

"  Is  n't  his  Father  our  Father  too  ?  " 

"  I  can't  feel  it,"  said  poor  John. 

"  But  He  does,  whether  we  do  or  not." 

"  Well,  I  won't  break  down,  and  pull  you  with 
me,"  said  John.  "  You  're  stronger  than  I  am. 
How 's  your  ankle  ?  " 

"Better.  It  doesn't  pain  me  a  bit,"  said 
Allan,  showing  his  brother  that  he  could  stand 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  203 

and  walk.  "  Let 's  make  the  fire,  and  catch  the 
breakfast  that  is  hopping  round  in  the  swamp 
there.  It  rather  goes  against  me  to  kill  the  poor 
fellows,  for  I  have  a  respect  for  frogs ;  but  I 
don't  see  but  we  must." 

"  "Why,  I  dare  say  they  'd  eat  us  if  they  liked 
us,  and  could  get  us,"  said  John,  who  was  too 
hungry  to  be  very  considerate  for  the  frogs.  "  So 
here  goes." 

"  Practice  makes  perfect,"  even  in  the  catching 
of  frogs.  The  boys  made  for  themselves  quite  a 
good  breakfast,  and  then  began  seriously  to  con- 
sider what  they  had  better  do  next. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  John,  "  I  think  we  had  best 
stay  still  where  we  are.  Depend  upon  it  all  the 
world  will  be  out  looking  for  us,  and  we  may 
just  be  running  away  from  them.  Somebody 
says  when  you  don't  know  what  to  do,  do  nothing. 
Here  is  wood  :  by-the-by,  we  must  n't  let  the  fire 
out,  on  account  of  saving  the  matches.  There 's 
a  spring  up  on  the  hill,  and  we  can  get  our  living 
out  of  the  swamp." 

"  But  it  seems  so  stupid  to  sit  down  and  do 
nothing  to  help  ourselves  out  of  the  scrape." 

"  But  it  would  be  a  great  deal  stupider  to  help 
ourselves  into  a  worse  scrape ;  and  we  did  that 
when  we  left  the  lake.     Besides,  we  need  n't  sit 


204  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

down  and  do  nothing.  We  can  go  up  to  that  big 
rock,  that  will  keep  the  wind  off,  and  build  up  a 
little  shelter  with  these  flat  stones,  and  cut  a  lot 
of  spruce  twigs  for  beds,  and  make  ourselves 
comfortable." 

"Well,  I  believe  you  are  right.  Let's  set  to 
work,  for  I  hate  to  sit  down  and  think,  worse 
than  anything." 

The  two  boys  began  to  make  their  camp,  and 
growing  occupied  and  interested  in  their  work, 
the  whole  morning  passed  away.  They  built  up 
against  a  rock  two  parallel  walls  of  stones,  laid 
across  them  some  of  the  partially-charred  trunks 
for  rafters,  and  then  went  in  among  the  spruce 
trees  to  cut  boughs  for  roofing  and  twigs  for  their 
beds. 

The  boys  were  in  quite  good  spirits  when  they 
went  into  the  little  spruce  thicket,  and,  laughing 
and  talking  with  each  other,  had  soon  collected  a 
large  quantity  of  boughs.  On  their  way  back  to 
their  shelter,  they  passed  a  pile  of  rocks  where  two 
huge  stones  inclined  together  at  their  tops,  leav- 
ing between  their  gray  sides  a  little  arched  cave. 

Allan  stooped  and  looked  into  it. 

"  Oh,  John  !  "  he  cried ;  "  come  here.  What  is 
this  funny  little  beast  ?  " 

The  "  little  beast,"  a  rolly-pooly,  black,  furry 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  205 

creature,  came  out,  grunting  good-naturedly,  to 
meet  the  boys,  and  poked  them  with  its  nose  in 
quite  an  affectionate  manner. 

"  You  cunning  little  thing ! "  said  Allan,  taking 
it  up  in  his  arms,  where  it  nestled  quite  con- 
tentedly.    "  Is  n't  it  pretty  ?     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  Allan,  it 's  a  bear's  cub,"  said  John, 
startled.  "  I  tell  you  we  'd  better  get  out  of  this. 
If  the  old  lady  comes  back,  it  won't  be  nice  at 
all." 

"  That 's  so,"  said  Allan,  alarmed  ;  "  and  we  'd 
best  be  quick,  too.     She  can't  be  far  off." 

"  Good-by,  you  queer  small  beast,"  said  John, 
rather  touched  by  the  way  in  which  the  little 
creature  clung  to  Allan,  like  a  kitten  reluctant  to 
be  put  down. 

"  Yes.  Tell  your  mammy  we  did  n't  hurt 
you,"  said  Allan,  putting  back  the  little  cub  in 
its  bed ;  "  and  I  advise  you  not  to  put  so  much 
confidence  in  all  strangers,"  he  added,  as  they 
hurried  back  to  their  shelter,  which  they  were  re- 
luctant to  leave  after  all  their  labour. 

"  It'll  never  do  for  us  to  stay  here,"  said  John. 
"  I  've  always  heard  that  a  bear  with  cubs  was 
more  savage  than  any  other  creature;  and  when 
she  comes  home  she  '11  be  after  us,  and  what  could 
we  do?" 
18 


206  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

"  Not  much,  in  our  condition.  It 's  a  wonder 
she  never  came  after  us  last  night.  We  have  n't 
much  to  pack  up." 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  go,  too,"  said  John,  as  they  once 
more  turned  away  to  wander  through  the  wilder- 
ness.    "  It  seemed  quite  like  home." 

"  Suppose  we  meet  the  bear  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  we  shall.  I  noticed  her  tracks 
going  the  other  way." 

"  Good  for  you.  John,  it 's  the  greatest  wonder 
in  the  world  that  she  did  n't  find  us  last  night. 
We  were  taken  care  of  wonderfully." 

"  Where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  Well,  as  long  as  we  don't  know  where  any- 
thing is,  we  shall  do  as  well  to  go  one  way  as 
another.  Let 's  strike  off  round  the  shoulder  of 
this  hill,  and  see  where  we  shall  get  to." 

With  a  look  of  regret  at  their  abandoned  cabin, 
the  two  brothers  once  more  set  out  on  their  wander- 
ings, going  at  every  step  farther  and  farther  into 
the  trackless  wilderness. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE    HAIR-LINE. 

I  CAN'T  go  one  step  farther,  John,"  said 
Allan,  sitting  down  and  covering  his  face 
with  his  hands. 

John  threw  himself  down  beside  his  brother, 
and  for  some  minutes  neither  spoke  a  word.  For 
the  first  time  the  two  boys  gave  themselves  up  to 
despair.  They  began  to  feel  that  their  case  was 
hopeless,  and  that  they  should  die  in  the  wilder- 
ness. They  had  wandered  all  day  Friday.  Hop- 
ing that  if  they  climbed  a  hill  they  would  see 
some  familiar  landmark  by  which  to  direct  their 
steps,  they  had  with  great  difficulty  ascended  the 
nearest  elevation.  When,  after  a  toilsome  climb, 
worn  and  exhausted,  they  at  last  came  out  upon 
the  bare,  wind-swept  summit,  they  saw  a  chaos  of 
mountains  and  woods  spread  out  before  them,  but 
nothing  that  they  could  recognize. 

Tired,  hungry,  and  worn  out  as  they  were,  the 
descent  had  been  harder  than  the  climbing  up. 

207 


208  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

When  they  had  come  to  the  bottom,  they  had 
found  themselves  in  a  wild,  dark  ravine,  where  it 
seemed  as  if  no  human  being  had  ever  before 
stood.  A  water-fall  sprang  from  the  rocks  above, 
and  not  far  from  its  foot  was  a  deep,  still  pool, 
where  the  boys  hoped  to  find  some  trout.  But 
their  string-line  had  been  too  weak,  and  the  first 
fish  which  took  the  bait  had  carried  away  the 
cord  and  the  crooked  pin  they  had  used,  as  Allan 
had  prudently  refused  to  risk  their  only  hook  on 
so  slender  a  line.  They  had  passed  the  lonesome 
night  cold  and  hungry,  and  the  morning  found 
them  more  tired  out  in  body  and  mind  than  ever 
before. 

John  had  made  a  bow  and  arrow  with  his 
knife ;  but  he  had  nothing  to  point  it  with  but  a 
crooked  pin.  More  than  one  rabbit  had  crossed 
their  path.  The  partridge  had  whirred  up  from 
before  them,  and  the  quail  had  piped  in  the  open 
places  near  the  edge  of  the  woods ;  but  both  bird 
and  rabbit  had  escaped  unharmed  by  John's 
ineffectual  weapon. 

All  day  Saturday  they  wandered,  growing 
more  and  more  silent  and  hopeless,  and  less  able 
to  bear  up  under  the  long  fatigue  and  suffering. 
Night  found  them  faint  for  want  of  food,  tired 
out  in  body  and  mind. 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  209 

"  Brother,"  said  Allan,  at  last,  "  I  don't  see 
but  it 's  all  up  with  us  now." 

"  I  'm  afraid  it  is,"  said  John.  "  If  we  die 
here,  we  shall  have  been  murdered  more  cruelly 
than  if  that  wretch  who  led  us  astray  had  shot  us 
as  we  slept.  I  wish  he  had.  It  would  have 
been  easier." 

"  God  forgive  him  !  "  said  Allan. 

John  was  silent.  He  could  not  say  the  words, 
and  he  would  not  trouble  his  brother. 

"Your  ankle  is  very  lame,  isn't  it?"  he  said. 

"  Yes.  Never  mind,  John.  It  won't  hurt  me 
long." 

"  Oh,  Allan  !  Allan  !  "  said  John,  in  bitterness 
of  spirit.  "  What  have  you  done  that  you  should 
suffer  like  this?  If  I  only  knew  that  you  were 
safe  with  father,  it  seems  to  me  I  would  not  care 
much  for  myself.  And  no  one  will  ever  know 
how  we  were  robbed,  and  left  helpless  to  starve 
to  death,  and  that  fellow  will  get  off  safe." 

"  Don't  let  us  talk  about  him  now,"  said  Allan, 
with  a  shiver.  "  How  cold  it  grows !  There  will 
be  a  heavy  frost  to-night.  I  hope  we  shall  go  to 
sleep." 

John  looked  at  his  brother,  and  felt  that  if 
Allan  fell  asleep,  the  probabilities  were  that  he 
would  never  wake.  He  was  pale  as  death ;  his 
18*  0 


210  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

features  were  pinched  and  sharp.  He  looked  as 
though  their  four  days'  wandering  had  done  the 
work  often  years.  As,  faint  for  want  of  food,  he 
lay  back  on  the  ground  and  closed  his  eyes,  he 
seemed  like  one  dying  or  dead. 

Both  boys  presented  a  most  forlorn  appearance. 
Their  clothes  had  been  torn  almost  to  shreds 
among  the  bushes,  briers,  and  rocks  through 
which  they  had  forced  their  way  ;  and  their  shoes 
had  all  but  fallen  to  pieces.  Their  faces  and 
hands  were  burnt  by  the  sun  and  wind  and  torn 
by  the  brambles.  Grief,  hunger,  and  fatigue 
had  so  changed  them,  that  it  seemed  almost  as 
though  their  own  father  would  not  have  known 
them  for  the  two  handsome,  sturdy  boys  who 
had  set  out  four  days  before  from  the  camp  on 
the  Saranac.  John  was  stronger  than  Allan,  and 
had  yet  enough  force  left  to  collect  a  few  sticks 
and  kindle  a  lire ;  but  it  was  very  hard  work ;  and 
he  had  to  sit  down  several  times  to  rest  before  he 
could  accomplish  his  purpose.  Then  utterly  worn 
out  he  threw  himself  on  the  ground  beside  his 
brother,  and  holding  each  other  close,  the  two 
boys  waited  in  silence  for  the  end,  which  seemed 
so  hopelessly  near.  They  had  suffered  much  that 
day.  Notwithstanding  the  repeated  assertion 
that  it  is  impossible  to  catch  cold  in  the  woods, 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  211 

the  boys,  lying  out  on  the  ground  without  their 
blankets,  had  done  it.  Both,  especially  Allan, 
had  felt  a  separate  pain  in  every  bone,  and  had 
been  tormented  by  feverish  thirst  and  head- 
ache. But  as  the  flame  of  life  burnt  lower  and 
lower,  a  sort  of  apathy  seemed  to  creep  over  them. 
As  death  drew  nearer  he  laid  aside  his  terrors, 
and  became  almost  a  friend  and  deliverer. 
John's  feeling  of  hatred  toward  their  false  guide 
seemed  to  dissolve  and  float  away  like  a  morning 
mist  before  the  great  change  which  he  felt  was 
close  at  hand. 

They  thought  of  their  father  and  his  grief;  but 
all  suffering  appeared  like  a  passing  cloud  before 
the  sense  of  the  presence  in  which  they  must 
soon  stand;  and  both  felt  that  strange  peaceful 
assurance  which  often  makes  death  so  much  easier 
to  the  dying  than  the  living. 

They  were  on  a  little  grassy  platform  part  way 
up  the  side  of  a  high  hill.  The  grass  was  dry 
and  brown  and  soft.  Great  gray  rocks  lay  scat- 
tered here  and  there.  The  tufts  of  the  golden 
rod  waved  to  and  fro  in  the  sunshine,  and  two 
great  red  and  brown  butterflies  sailed  happily 
about  from  one  flower  to  another.  Through  the 
little  meadow  ran  a  stream  that  made  a  succession 
of  cascades  from  the  hill  above,  and,  after  water- 


212  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

ing  the  little  green  plain,  sprang  from  stone  to 
stone  into  the  wooded  ravine  below.  There  was 
a  deep,  still  pool  near  where  the  boys  had  built 
their  fire,  and  as  the  shadows  began  to  fall,  more 
than  one  fish  leaped  and  glanced  from  the  clear 
water. 

It  crossed  Allan's  mind  that  if  they  had  a  line 
they  might  yet  be  saved ;  but  in  his  then  state  of 
mind  he  did  not  seem  to  care  very  much  about 
his  life,  and  he  lay  still,  and  did  not  speak. 
John,  who  was  not  so  weak  as  his  brother,  re- 
membered his  diary  in  his  pocket ;  and  it  occurred 
to  him  in  a  half-dreaming  way  that  he  might 
write  a  line  or  two,  which,  if  ever  their  bodies 
were  found,  would  tell  their  sad  story  to  their 
friends. 

He  took  out  the  little  book  and  found  the 
pencil  in  its  pocket.  There  also  was  a  paper 
carefully  wrapped  about  a  lock  of  his  dead 
mother's  hair.  Mrs.  Fitz  Adam  had  had  re- 
markably long  dark-brown  hair.  This  tress  was 
fully  a  yard  and  a  quarter  in  length,  soft  and  fine. 

John  kissed  it  softly,  and  then  an  idea  came 
into  his  mind  which  once  more  made  his  heart 
beat  with  the  hope  that  there  remained  some  pos- 
sibility of  saving  his  brother's  life  and  his  own. 
He  shook  out  the  lock  of  hair  to  its  full  length. 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  213 

"  Allan,"  he  said,  faintly,  "  see  here  I " 
Allan  carried  the  hair  to  his  lips  with  a  trem- 
bling hand. 

"  It 's  mother's,"  he  said,  faintly.  »  Do  you 
think  she'll  know  us?  I  hope  it's  not  very 
far  to  go,"  he  continued,  his  mind  wandering  a 
little.     "  I  can't  go  far :  I  'm  so  tired." 

"  Allan,  dear,"  said  John,  quietly, "  listen  to  me. 
I  want  you  to  help  me  plait  this  into  a  line, 
and  fasten  that  one  hook  securely ;  and  if  we  can 
do  that,  I  think  our  lives  will  be  saved.  Yes,  I 
know  it's  mother's  hair;  but  she'd  be  glad  if  it 
kept  us  alive  for  father.  Think,  Allan  1  Try 
and  be  yourself.  He  has  no  children  but  our- 
selves. See  the  trout  leap !  We  have  no  right 
to  lie  down  here  to  die  as  long  as  there  is  any 
chance  left." 

"I'm  very  tired  and  sleepy,"  said  Allan,  in  a 
dreamy  voice.     «  Won't  it  do  after  I  wake  ?  " 

"  My  dear  boy,  if  you  go  to  sleep  now,  you  '11 
never  wake,"  said  John.  "Come,  Allan!"  he 
added,  more  imperatively.  "  Our  lives  are  worth 
trying  for.     Think  of  father,  and  all  of  them." 

Allan  made  an  effort  to  rouse  himself  from  the 
sort  of  lethargy  that  was  stealing  over  him,  and 
tried  to  understand  what  John  meant.  When  he 
at   last   comprehended    his    intention,    the   faint 


214  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

hope  thus  kindled  seemed  to  rally  his  failing 
strength.  He  tried  to  sit  up,  but  fell  back  on 
the  grass.  John,  who  was  not  so  utterly  ex- 
hausted, raised  himself,  and  leaned  against  a 
stone  at  his  back.  He  divided  the  hair  carefully 
into  two  parts. 

"  The  trouble  will  be  in  joining,"  he  said;  "  and 
you  know  how  to  tie  the  knots  better  than  I  do. 
If  you  can't  do  it  yourself,  show  me  how." 

It  was  an  hour  before  the  boys  accomplished 
their  task.  Allan's  hand,  weak  as  it  was,  had  not 
forgotten  its  old  cunning,  and  he  joined  the  two 
lengths  of  hair  securely  together,  and,  after  a  great 
deal  of  trouble,  fastened  on  the  hook.  More  than 
once  the  boys  were  obliged  to  stop  and  rest;  and 
it  was  all  they  could  do  to  resist  the  faintness 
which  they  felt  stealing  over  them. 

But  John's  resolute  will  conquered.  He  talked 
to  and  encouraged  his  brother,  half  persuading, 
half  commanding.  He  held  himself  up  ;*he  closed 
his  ears  to  the  voice  that  whispered  that  all  was 
useless,  and  that  nothing  was  left  but  to  lie  down 
and  die.  When  the  line  was  finally  woven,  he 
managed,  he  hardly  knew  how,  to  cut  a  pole  from 
the  nearest  thicket,  baited  the  hook  with  a  small 
grasshopper,  which  opportunely  presented  itself, 
and,  sitting  down  by  the  edge  of  the  little  pool, 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  215 

he  dropped  the  hook  gently  on  the  water.  He 
had  hardly  done  so  before  the  bait  was  taken,  with 
a  force  which  almost  pulled  the  whole  from  the 
boy's  trembling  hands. 

He  held  it,  however,  and  once  more  animated 
with  the  hope  of  life,  he  seemed  for  the  moment 
to  feel  stronger.  In  his  heart  he  thanked  Mr.  De 
Forest  for  the  instructions  which  had  taught  him 
to  use  skill  rather  than  strength  ;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  landed  a  moderate  sized  trout. 

"  Thank  God !  "  he  said,  and  then  for  the  first 
time  he  began  to  cry,  and  kissed  the  hair-line  over 
and  over. 

"  Mother 's  saved  our  lives,"  he  said,  as  he  went 
back  to  his  brother. 

The  boys  ate  their  fish  with  small  dressing  or 
cooking.  Allan  hardly  seemed  to  know  what  he 
was  doing  for  a  few  minutes.  For  two  days  the 
boys  had  had  nothing  to  eat  but  half  a  biscuit 
apiece,  and  some  sassafras  leaves.  It  was  too 
early  for  nuts,  even  had  there  been  any  nut-trees 
in  the  high  desolate  region  into  which  they  had 
come,  and  too  late  for  berries. 

As  Allan's  fainting  strength  revived,  his  mind 
in  some  degree  recovered  its  tone. 

"I  believe  I  have  got  my  wits  back  agaiu,"  he 
said,   with  a  little   smile :    "  all  there  is  left  of 


216  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

them.  Do  you  know,  when  you  were  talking  to 
me,  and  making  me  work  at  this,  it  seemed  to 
me  as  if  you  were  very  silly  to  take  so  much 
trouble  for  nothing  ?  " 

John  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  for  he  had 
heard  stories  of  people  lost  in  the  woods,  whose 
minds  had  given  way  under  the  pressure  of 
hunger  and  loneliness,  and  he  felt  thankful  to 
hear  his  brother's  natural  voice  once  more. 

"  You  did  seem  a  little  queer,"  he  said ;  "  but 
you  were  so  faint.     Do  you  feel  better  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Are  there  any  more  fish  in  that  brook, 
do  you  suppose?  I  never  tasted  anything  so  de- 
lightful." 

"  Let  me  try  for  another?  " 

"  Are  you  strong  enough  ?  " 

"  I  guess  so ;  if  you  can  find  another  grasshop- 
per. You  blessed  little  fish  -  hook  !  If  ever  I 
get  home  safe,  I  '11  have  you  put  in  a  frame." 

The  fish  in  the  little  pool  were  evidently  quite 
unsophisticated,  for  they  sprang  with  frantic  eager- 
ness, even  at  a  bit  of  John's  torn  handkerchief, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  boys  had  caught  trout 
enough  for  a  fine  supper.  Not  being  quite  so 
starved  as  when  they  made  their  first  capture,  they 
dressed  their  fish,  and,  broiling  it  on  the  coals, 
held  a  feast  which  they  greatly  enjoyed,  and  once 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  217 

more,  as  Allan  said,  began  to  feel  quite  like  them- 
selves. 

"  We  had  best  stay  where  we  are,"  said  John. 
"  It 's  a  better  place  than  any  we  've  seen.  We 
only  get  worse  and  worse  off  as  we  go  on." 

"Yes,"  said  Allan;  "and  nothing  can  come 
near  us  in  this  open  place  without  our  seeing  it. 
There 's  no  use  in  your  trying  to  keep  awake  to 
watch.  You  '11  certainly  go  to  sleep.  Make  up 
as  big  a  fire  as  you  can,  and  then  let  us  lie  down. 
This  dry  grass  is  better  than  the  bare  rock,  or  the 
damp  moss  in  the  woods  last  night." 

"  I  '11  take  my  knife  and  cut  down  as  much  as 
I  can,"  said  John,  "  and  spread  it  over  us.  It 
will  be  something  toward  keeping  us  warm." 

"  You  are  too  tired.  I  would  n't.  I  can't  take 
a  step,  for  my  ankle  is  all  swelled  up  as  big  as 
two." 

John  persisted,  nevertheless,  and  collected 
several  armfuls  of  the  dry  grass  for  bed  and 
covering.  Then  he  made  up  the  fire  as  well  as 
he  could,  and,  nestling  in  the  hay  beside  his 
brother,  was  soon  fast  asleep.  They  slept  on 
soundly  till  toward  midnight,  when  Allan  woke, 
and  replenished  the  dyiDg  fire. 

As  he  did  so,  he  thought  he  heard  from  some- 
where, not  far  oil',  a  sound  like  the  groaning  of 
19 


218  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

some  one  in  distress.  He  listened,  but  it  was  not 
renewed  ;  and  he  had  been  used  to  hear  so  many 
strange  noises,  that  this  made  little  impression 
upon  his  mind. 

"  It 's  only  an  owl,  or  a  coon,  or  something," 
thought  Allan,  and  he  fell  asleep  again,  and  did 
not  wake  till  morning. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE     PANTHER. 

WHEN  Allan  woke,  a  great  hawk,  with  a 
partridge  in  his  claws,  was  sitting  on  a 
stone  opposite,  apparently  wondering  who  and 
what  the  two  boys  could  be. 

Allan  shouted  and  clapped  his  hands,  and  the 
startled  bird  dropped  his  prey,  and  rose  on  his 
wings.  Allan  jumped  up  and  seized  the  dead 
partridge  before  he  could  pounce  again,  and  the 
hawk,  with  a  scream,  sailed  away. 

John  woke  with  the  noise,  and  Allan  held  up 
his  prize  in  triumph. 

"  So  much  for  breakfast,"  he  said.  "  It  was  n't 
quite  fair  to  take'it,  to  be  sure ;  but  he  can  catch 
another  easier  than  we  can." 

"  That 's  quite  splendid,"  said  John,  rising  to 
collect  more  wood  for  the  fire,  while  Allan  began 
to  pick  the  partridge.  "  It 's  like  the  ravens  that 
fed  Elijah." 

"  Only  I  'm  afraid  the  hawk  won't  come  back. 
How  do  you  feel  this  morning  ?  " 

219 


220  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  How  do  you  ?  " 

"  Better;  only  I  'ni  rather  lame  yet.  That  grass 
kept  us  so  nice  and  warm  last  night;  it  really 
seems  quite  as  if  we  had  been  to  bed :  but  I  'm 
tired,  and  I  don't  want  to  set  off  after  any  new 
adventures  to-day." 

"  Nor  I.  If  the  adventures  will  let  me  alone, 
I  '11  let  them  alone  after  this.  I  really  did  n't 
think  you  'd  be  alive  this  morning,"  said  John, 
with  emotion. 

"  I  do  think  I  was  very  near  gone,"  said  Allan. 
"  I  shall  never  be  afraid  of  death  again,  if  it  is 
as  easy  as  it  seemed  last  night ;  but  I  'm  glad  I 
did  n't  leave  you  here  all  alone." 

"  I  should  n't  have  been  long  after  you ;  but 
some  way  I  feel  more  encouraged  this  morning 
than  I  have  at  all,  though  I  am  so  tired.  We 
were  saved  so  wonderfully  last  night.  It  was 
just  as  though  some  one  had  whispered  to  me 
about  making  that  line ;  and  we  've  come  through 
so  much.  I  feel  as  if  it  was  not  meant  we  should 
die  here.     To-day 's  Sunday,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  let  us  make  it  a  real  day  of  rest,  for 
I  am  sure  we  need  it.  Have  some  nice  coals, 
John,  and  we'll  have  a  breakfast  worth  while, 
thanks  to  the  hawk." 

The  buys  cooked   their    bird,  and  enjoyed   it 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  221 

greatly.  Then  having  taken  a  bath  in  the  brook, 
and  shaken  the  dust  and  dirt  out  of  their  ragged 
clothes,  they  sat  down  by  the  fire,  and,  as  a  sort  of 
exercise  for  the  day,  began  to  repeat  to  each  other 
all  the  verses  from  the  Bible  which  they  could 
remember. 

"  I  must  get  some  more  wood,"  said  John,  at 
last,  rising  from  his  place.  "  It  won't  do  to  let 
the  fire  go  out,  and  use  up  our  precious  matches. 
What  a  mercy  it  is  the  weather  keeps  so  pleasant." 

"  Yes.  We  '11  build  up  some  kind  of  a  shelter, 
to-morrow.  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  for  John 
was  preparing  to  descend  the  bank  that  led  to  the 
bottom  of  the  little  fall. 

"  I  've  got  to  go  down  a  little  bit  for  more 
wood.  I  've  used  up  about  all  there  is  right  here. 
You  sit  still,  and  rest  your  foot.  I  '11  be  back  in 
a  minute." 

"  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  out  of  sight,"  said 
Allan,  nervously.  "It's  been  a  perfect  night- 
mare to  me  all  the  time,  for  fear  that  I  should 
lose  you." 

"  I  won't  go  only  just  down  on  this  next  ledge. 
There 's  a  big  tree  there  fallen  down.  I  'm  on 
the  brook,  and  can't  lose  the  way  so  long  as  I 
know  water  won't  run  up  hill." 

"  Well ;  but  call  now  and  then,  will  you  ?  " 

19* 


222  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Yes/'  said  John,  and  disappeared  down  the 
little  ravine. 

He  called  to  his  brother  two  or  three  times, 
and  then  there  was  a  longer  interval  of  silence, 
and  Allan  grew  anxious.     He  shouted  aloud. 

The  next  instant  he  heard  a  wild  cry  of  "  help  ! 
help  !  "  Then  there  was  a  long,  savage  yell,  half 
animal,  half  human,  and  almost  simultaneously 
two  shots  in  rapid  succession,  and  the  sound  of  a 
heavy  fall.  Greatly  startled  and  alarmed,  Allan 
dragged  himself  to  the  edge  of  the  little  descent, 
calling  wildly  again  and  again  on  his  brother. 
As  he  was  about  to  throw  himself  down,  careless 
of  his  lame  foot,  he  heard  his  own  name.  To  his 
unspeakable  relief,  John  made  his  appearance 
round  a  huge  rock.  Allan  gave  a  cry  of  delighted 
surprise,  for  his  brother  bore  in  his  hand  the  silver 
rifle. 

The  next  instant,  however,  he  started,  for  it 
flashed  across  his  mind  that  John  had  encountered 
their  false  guide,  and  that  Sam  had  been  shot  in 
the  struggle. 

"  Oh,  John  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  have  n't  killed 
him?" 

"  Quite  the  contrary,"  said  John,  in  a  tone  of 
repressed  excitement. 

"  Then  you  are  hurt  yourself?  " 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  223 

"Not  a  bit.  Come  down  here,  if  you  can. 
Let  me  help  you." 

Allan  asked  no  more  questions,  but  hurried 
down  the  rocks  heedless  of  his  lameness.  John 
caught  his  hand,  and,  holding  it  very  tight,  led 
him  round  the  rock  upon  a  wide  craggy  platform 
that  jutted  over  the  brook  at  a  height  of  perhaps 
ten  feet.  On  this  platform  lay  Sam  Irmelin, 
quite  insensible.  Allan's  rifle,  and  the  rods  tied 
together,  were  near  him,  and  close  by  the  tawny 
body  of  a  huge  panther  yet  quivering  in  death. 

"  Is  Sam  dead  ?  "  said  Allan,  in  an  awe-struck 
whisper. 

"  No ;  I  think  he 's  fainted.  Did  n't  you  hear 
him  call  ?  " 

"  I  thought  that  was  you,"  said  Allan,  with  a 
shudder.  "  Oh,  it  was  so  horrible !  But  the 
panther  ?  " 

"  He 's  dead  enough.  I  '11  tell  you,"  said 
John,  who  was  remarkably  calm  and  self-pos- 
sessed. "  I  came  down  here  after  wood,  and  just 
as  I  got  to  that  big  rock  we  passed  round,  I  heard 
the  call,  and  ran  round  the  corner  and  saw  him 
lying  as  he  is  there,  and  the  panther  on  that  log 
opposite,  just  getting  ready  for  a  spring.  The 
rifle,  thank  God,  lay  right  there  at  my  foot,  where 
he  'd  dropped  it.     I  caught  it  up  and  fired,  and 


224  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

hit  the  creature  in  the  breast.  He  gave  a  yell, 
and  gathered  himself  for  a  spring,  and  I  gave  him 
the  other  barrel.  Thank  heaven,  they  were  both 
loaded,  and  he  made  one  bound  and  dropped 
there."  And  trembling  from  head  to  foot,  John 
sat  down  on  a  stone  and  leaned  his  head  against 
his  brother. 

In  his  joy  and  thankfulness,  Allan  kissed  first 
John  and  then  the  rifle. 

"So  you  've  really  killed  a  panther?"  he  said, 

"  Yes,"  said  John,  and  then  he  rose  and  knelt 
down  by  Sam. 

"  He 's  not  dead.  He 's  only  in  a  faint,"  he 
said.  "He  must  have  fallen  over  the  bank. 
Help  me  bring  him  to  himself.  He 's  hurt  some 
way.     I  guess  he 's  got  his  flask  with  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Allan,  putting  his  hand  in  Sam's 
pocket,  and  drawing  out  a  wicker-covered  bottle 
with  a  little  spirits  in  it. 

The  boys  tried  to  force  a  little  of  the  cordial 
between  Sam's  lips,  and  bathed  his  face  with 
water  from  the  brook.  Presently  he  opened  his 
eyes,  but  closed  them  again  with  a  groan  as  he 
recognized  the  boys. 

"  Do  you  know  me,  Sam  ? "  said  John,  not 
harshly,  but  rather  coldly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Sam,  hiding  his  face  with  his  hands. 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  225 

"The  panther  is  dead,"  said  Allan.  "See, 
there  he  lies." 

"  Who  killed  him  ?  "  asked  Sam,  faintly. 

"John  did.  He  saved  your  life.  Oh,  Sam 
Irmelin !  What  ever  had  we  done  to  you  that 
you  should  treat  us  like  this  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  come  here  ? "  said  Sam,  still 
hiding  his  face. 

"  We  lost  our  way  trying  to  get  back  to  father's 
camp.  We  Ve  been  wandering  about  ever  since. 
We  have  been  almost  starved.    How  could  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Sam.  "  I  should  n't,  if 
it  had  not  been  for  that  Marshall  boy." 

"  Gus  Marshall !  "  cried  both  the  brothers  at 
once.     "  Why,  what  had  he  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  That  night  I  went  back  with  him  to  '  Ba- 
ker's,' he  told  me  that  he  would  give  me  twenty 
dollars,  if  I  would  put  the  silver  rifle  into  his 
hands.  I  promised  I  would ;  but  after  I  got  it 
and  the  other  things,  I  wanted  to  keep  them  for 
myself." 

The  boys  looked  at  each  other  in  horror,  quite 
aghast  at  such  wickedness. 

"Who  could  have  thought  Gus  Marshall  was 
as  bad  as  that?"  said  Allan.  "  But  what  did  you 
think  was  to  become  of  us,  all  alone  in  the  woods 
without  our  guns  ?  " 


226  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  I  thought  your  father  would  come  for  you." 

"  That  was  n't  our  lake  where  you  took  us,  was 
it  ?  "  said  John,  quietly. 

"  No,  sir  :  I  wanted  time  to  get  off.  I  started 
over  the  hills  for  Racket  River ;  and  I  meant  to 
get  over  to  Canada  :  but,  young  gentlemen,  —  I 
don't  know  as  you  '11  believe  me, — when  I  came  to 
think  how  mean  I'd  been,  I  couldn't  go  on; 
and  finally,  day  before  yesterday,  I  started  back  for 
the  Saranac,  to  give  myself  up  and  bring  back 
your  things ;  but  I  lost  my  way,  too.  I  fell 
down  here  yesterday  afternoon,  and  have  lain  here 
ever  since.  I  don't  know  what  I  've  done  to  my- 
self. I  don't  seem  to  have  broken  any  bones ; 
but  I  can't  move  or  stir,  only  my  arms ;  and  I 
saw  the  panther,  and  could  n't  reach  the  rifle.  It 's 
the  judgment  of  God  upon  me  for  my  wicked- 
ness ;  but,  oh,  young  gentlemen,  don't  leave  me 
here  alone  to  die,  though  I  deserve  no  better  at 
your  hands." 

"  We  never  could  think  of  such  a  thing,"  said 
John.  "  I  can  forgive  you  now,  Sam,  though  I 
could  n't  before." 

"  Yes,"  said  Allan.  "  We  did  forgive  you  last 
night,  when  we  thought  we  were  going  to  die ;  so 
say  no  more  about  it.  John,  I  wish  we  could  get 
him  up  i:he.  bank.     It 's  a  great  deal  more  com- 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  227 

fortable  there  than  in  this  damp  place ;  and,  be- 
sides, I  have  heard  that  where  there  was  t  one 
panther,  there  would  be  another ;  and  where  we 
are,  it  is  all  open,  so  that  we  can  see  what  is 
coming." 

"  I  can't  take  one  step,"  said  Sam.  "  I  'm  not 
in  any  pain,  but  I  can't  move  nor  raise  myself. 
It  seems  a  sort  of  numbness." 

Fortunately,  there  was  an  easier  slope  at  a  little 
distance,  and  up  this,  with  a  great  deal  of  labour 
and  often  stopping  to  rest,  the  two  boys  conveyed 
Sam.  Having  reached  their  fire,  they  laid  him 
on  their  bed  of  hay,  and  covered  him  over  with 
his  blanket.  During  the  whole  time  Sam  never 
spoke  a  word. 

John  loaded  his  beloved  rifle,  greatly  rejoiced 
at  having  it  once  more  in  his  own  hands.  Allan 
collected  their  other  possessions,  and  among  them 
the  kettle,  which  he  filled  with  water  and  set  on 
the  fire  to  boil,  "  simply  to  see  how  it  looked,"  for 
they  had  neither  coffee  nor  tea. 

"  If  you  'd  get  the  panther's  skin,"  said  Sam, 
timidly,  as  though  fearing  to  address  the  boys, 
"  it  would  be  worth  keeping ;  and  if  you  have  to 
stay  here  any  time,  it  would  keep  you  warm." 

"  I  'm  afraid  we  should  only  spoil  it,"  said 
John. 


228  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  I  guess  I  could  tell  you/'  said  Sam.  "  I  've 
got, my  hunting-knife." 

By  attending  to  Sam's  directions,  the  two  boys 
did  manage  to  get  the  panther's  skin,  and,  having 
done  so,  began  to  wonder  whether  a  panther-steak 
might  be  eatable. 

"  They  do  eat  them,"  said  Allan,  "  in  South 
America.  It 's  in  Darwin's  Voyage.  He  says  it 
is  n't  bad.     Let 's  try." 

The  boys  selected  a  portion,  and  on  questioning 
Sam  learned  that  he  had  heard  the  older  hunters 
talk  of  eating  panther  meat,  though  he  had  never 
done  so  himself.  Indeed,  he  had  never  before 
seen  a  panther  alive. 

Hungry  as  the  boys  were,  they  found  their  new 
dish  so  exceedingly  tough  and  strong,  that  they 
gave  up  the  attempt  to  eat  it  in  despair,  and  con- 
cluded that  Mr.  Darwin's  panther  must  have  been 
younger  than  theirs. 

"  We  must  have  something,"  said  Allan  :  "  Sam 
is  faint  for  want  of  food.  It  don't  seem  right  to 
go  fishing  and  hunting  on  Sunday ;  but  as  long  as 
we  can't  live  any  other  way,  it  is  like  the  disciples 
picking  the  ears  of  corn.  I  heard  a  partridge  drum 
up  in  the  woods  there  this  morning.  Go  and  see 
if  you  can  find  a  bird  or  two,  John,  and  I  '11  get 
some  fish.     Have  you  got  my  fly-book,  Sam  ?  " 


THE  SILVER   EIFLE.  229 

"  Yes,  sir/'  said  Sam,  colouring  crimson.  "  It 's 
in  my  pocket.  You  '11  have  to  lift  me,  for  I  can't 
stir,  not  one  bit." 

Allan  gently  moved  the  helpless  boy,  and 
took  from  his  pocket  the  precious  fly-book,  quite 
safe. 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Allan,  pitying  him.  "I 
wish  I  knew  what  to  do  for  you." 

"  Oh,  sir !  If  you  would  n't  be  so  kind,"  said 
Sam,  in  a  faltering  voice.  "  Your  brother  saved 
my  life;  and  now  you  both  stay  here,  when  you 
might  find  your  way  back." 

"  We  did  n't  mean  to  go  on  to-day,  at  all 
events,"  said  John;  "and  I  think  we'd  best  stay 
still,  for  whenever  we  've  made  a  move,  it 's  been 
for  the  worse ;  and  of  course  we  should  n't  go  off 
and  leave  you.  Don't  cry,  Sam,"  for  the  helpless 
figure  was  shaken  with  sobs.  "  I  'm  sure  you  '11 
never  do  such  a  thing  again." 

"  He  '11  be  better  when  he  gets  something  to 
eat,"  said  Allan,  kindly.  "  Now,  John,  don't  you 
go  too  far  off." 

"  I  won't.  I'll  just  go  straight  up  the  hill. 
I  'm  sure  I  '11  find  something  in  those  open  woods ; 
and  you  get  some  fish,  and  we  '11  have  a  good 
dinner." 

Pretty  soon  John's  gun  was  heard  from   the 
20 


230  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

wood,  and  he  reappeared,  bringing  with  him  two 
brace  of  birds. 

"  They  are  as  plenty  as  blackberries  up  there," 
he  said ;  "  and  I  saw  marks  of  deer,  too.  There 's 
no  danger  of  our  starving." 

Sam  ate  the  food  which  the  boys  prepared  for 
him  with  tolerable  appetite.  He  did  not  com- 
plain of  any  pain,  only  the  strange  numbness  and 
helplessness. 

The  boys,  who  had  heard  of  such  cases  before, 
and  felt  that  it  was  very  probable  he  would  never 
walk  again,  were  full  of  pity  for  his  wretched 
condition,  and  tended  him  with  a  kindness  which 
seemed  to  make  a  deep  impression  on  the  unhappy 
young  man. 

"  Young  gentlemen,"  he  said,  after  a  long 
silence,  "  I  should  like  to  tell  you  all  about 
it." 

"Don't  trouble  yourself,"  said  Allan.  "We 
know  you  are  sorry  now.  You  don't  want  to  go 
over  it." 

"  I  'd  rather,  sir ;  for  I  don't  think  you  know 
anything  how  mean  I  have  been.  It  began  the 
first  night  we  started,  when  Michael  sent  me  back 
to  '  Baker's '  for  the  pepper.  You  know  young 
Marshall  went  with  me ;  and  he  kept  telling  me 
all  the  way  how  you  and  your  father  had  cheated 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  231 

him  out  of  his  uncle's  property,  and  especially  the 
silver  rifle." 

"  It 's  no  such  thing/'  said  Allan,  with  great 
indignation.  "He  left  the  Marshalls  ever  so 
much  more  than  the  old  house  is  worth  ;  and 
father  never  knew  a  word  about  the  will  until  it 
was  read  after  the  funeral ;  and  as  to  the  rifle  and 
things,  what  use  would  they  have  been  to  Gus  ?  " 

"Hush,  Allan,"  said  John.  "Let  Sam  tell 
his  story." 

"  Well,  you  see,  he  kept  telling  me  about  your 
rifle,  and  how  valuable  it  was,  and  what  his  uncle 
had  done  with  it ;  and  I  'd  always  heard  the  men 
talk  about  it.  Finally,  he  offered  me  twenty 
dollars  if  I  'd  bring  it  to  him  at  a  place  on  the 
lake,  near  where  we  set  sail.  "Well,  I  would  n't 
listen  to  him  at  first ;  but  he  kept  on,  and  the 
more  he  talked,  the  more  I  thought  what  a  fine 
thing  it  would  be  to  get  so  much  money  all  at 
once,  and  finally  I  part  promised  to  do  it." 

"But,  Sam,"  said  Allan,  greatly  disgusted, 
"you  needn't  have  been  so  mean  because  he 
was." 

"  I  know,  sir.  It  don't  make  a  wicked  thing 
any  better  because  there 's  two  people  in  it  instead 
of  one.  I  don't  mean  to  excuse  myself.  Do  you 
remember  the  day  after  we  camped,  the  two  hunt- 


232  THE   SILVEE    EIFLE. 

ers  that  came  up  the  lake  in  a  boat,  I  told  you 
one  of  them  was  old  George  Flint  ?  " 

"  Yes/'  said  John.  "  I  hope  he  was  n't  con- 
cerned in  the  matter  ?  " 

"  He,  sir !  "  said  Sam.  "  No,  indeed !  George 
would  never  touch  a  pin  that  did  n't  belong  to 
him ;  but  he  brought  me  a  note  from  Mr.  Mar- 
shall, and  in  it  he  said  he  'd  give  me  double  what 
he  'd  promised,  if  I  'd  only  put  the  silver  rifle  into 
his  hands.  I  believe  old  George  would  have 
killed  me,  if  he  'd  guessed  what  it  was  he  carried." 

"  Have  you  got  that  note  about  you  ? "  said 
John. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Sam,  taking  a  folded  paper 
from  the  little  pocket  in  the  breast  of  his  hunting- 
shirt.     Gus  Marshall's  note  ran  as  follows : — 

"  If  you  will  bring  me  the  gunn,  I  will  make  it 
wurth  your  wile,  and  give  you  dubble  what  I 
promiced.  Augustus  Marshall,  Esq." 

for  stupid  Gus  could  not  forbear  the  dear  delight 
of  his  flourishing  signature  even  to  such  a  docu- 
ment. 

"  That 's  Gus,  sure  enough,"  said  Allan ;  "  both 
the  hand  and  the  spelling.  The  miserable  fellow! 
Well,  go  on." 

"  I  tried  to  get  hold  of  the  rifle,  if  you  remem- 


THE   SILVER   EIFLE.  233 

ber,  more  than  once,"  said  Sara,  addressing  John ; 
'  but  you  were  so  careful  of  it  I  could  n't.  That 
day  we  went  up  on  the  mountain  I  should  have 
done  so  only  that  you  left  it  in  camp ;  and  then  I 
made  up  the  plan  I  carried  out ;  but  I  thought 
you  would  get  back,  or  that  your  friends  would 
come  and  find  you.  I  never  thought  you  might 
get  lost,  though  I  might  have  done  so.  Now  I 
see  what  you've  been  through.  I  wonder  I 
have  n't  got  your  deaths  to  answer  for  as  well. 
All  that  Mr.  Marshall  had  said  to  me  set  me 
to  thinking  how  much  I  should  like  to  have  the 
silver  rifle  and  your  rod,  Allan,  for  my  own,  and 
how  easy  it  would  be  to  get  away  and  get  over  to 
Canada ;  and  I  thought  you  had  so  many  things, 
and  your  father  was  rich,  and  all ;  but  I  had  n't 
half  made  up  my  mind  I  'd  really  do  it,  not  even 
when  we  got  over  there  to  the  lake,  not  even 
when  you  went  to  bed  and  left  me  to  watch. 
And  then  when  I  was  alone,  it  kept  coming  up 
to  me,  just  as  though  something  kept  whispering 
in  my  ear,  how  easy  it  would  be  to  take  the 
things,  and  get  off  with  them.  I  thought  I  could 
get  over  to  Canada,  and  go  up  the  Saguenay  :  and 
I  meant  to  sell  your  rifle,  Allan,  and  your 
brother's  rod ;  and  that  the  things  were  worth  so 
much  more  to  a  poor  boy  like  me." 
20* 


234  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  But,  Sam/'  said  John,  "  seems  to  me  that 
was  a  very  short-sighted  plan  on  your  part.  You 
must  have  known  you  could  never  come  back 
here,  and  your  reputation  as  a  guide  would  be 
gone,  and  you  could  n't  come  back  to  your  friends. 
If  it  was  n't  for  anything  but  the  money,  I  should 
think  your  good  name  would  have  been  worth 
more  to  you  than  the  rifle." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Sam,  with,  a  sigh.  "I  saw 
that  when  it  was  too  late;  but  I  was  just  blinded 
by  covetousness.  Don't  think  I  'm  excusing  my- 
self, young  gentlemen ;  I  'm  only  telling  you  what 
I  thought.  Finally,  I  went  in  where  you  were 
sleeping,  and  the  sight  of  the  things  was  too  much 
for  me.  If  I  had  n't  gone  and  looked  at  them,  I 
don't  think  I  should  have  given  myself  up  to  my 
wickedness,  even  then.  Someway,  almost  before 
I  knew,  I  found  myself  in  the  canoe  with  your 
guns  and  the  other  things.  Half  a  dozen  times, 
before  I  reached  the  other  end  of  the  lake,  I  was 
a  mind  to  turn  back.  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had  ! 
But  I  did  n't.  I  hid  the  canoe  at  the  foot  of  the 
lake,  and  struck  across  the  country  for  Racket 
River.  I'd  never  been  through  there,  but  I 
thought  I  could  find  the  way.  I  never  was  afraid 
in  the  woods  before,  but  now  it  seemed  as  if  there 
was  something  walking  eluse  behind  me  all  the 
20* 


THE   SILVER    KIFLE.  235 

time,  and  every  step  I  took  I  expected  to  see 
some  one  start  out,  and  ask  me  what  I  was  doing 
with  your  guns  and  rods.  I  met  an  old  Indian ; 
and  I  think  he  suspected  me,  for  he  looked  at  the 
things  curiously,  and  asked  me  some  questions, 
but  I  put  him  off  with  some  made-up  story,  and 
went  on  a  ways.  But  then  it  came  up  to  me 
more  and  more  how  mean  I  'd  been,  and  every 
kind  word  you'd  said  to  me,  and  how  the  doctor 
and  your  father  and  Mr.  Everard  had  treated 
me  so  well,  and  how  bad  you  'd  feel  when  you 
woke  up  and  found  you  'd  been  robbed.  It  was 
just  like  some  one  talking  to  me ;  and  finally  I 
made  up  my  mind  I'd  just  go  straight  back  to 
the  Saranac  and  give  myself  up,  and  take  back 
the  things ;  and  I  started  for  your  father's  camp ; 
but  I  was  in  such  a  worry  and  trouble  of  mind, 
I  suppose  I  had  n't  kept  the  bearings  right,  for  I 
lost  my  way.  Yesterday  afternoon  I  fell  over 
the  rock.  I  guess  I  must  have  lain  in  a  fit  or 
something  for  a  while,  for  when  I  came  to  my- 
self, it  was  growing  dark.  I  tried  to  get  up,  but  I 
found  I  could  n't  stir,  only  move  my  arms.  Oh, 
I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  I  suffered  misery !  I 
couldn't  do  anything,  only  lie  still  and  think 
what  I  'd  done,  and  how  no  one  would  ever  know 
that  I  'd  tried  to  bring  the  things  back,  and  how 


236  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

I  should  leave  my  bones  for  the  wild  creatures, 
and  how  my  poor  father  and  mother  would  feel. 
I  might  have  thought  of  them  before  I  disgraced 
a  respectable  name ;  but,  oh,  it  was  dreadful !  " 

"  You  poor  fellow  ! "  said  John,  quite  melted. 
"  How  I  wish  I  had  known  you  were  there  last 
night.     I  wonder  you  didn't  hear  us." 

"  The  water-fall  makes  such  a  noise,"  said 
Allan ;  "  and  he  could  n't  see  our  fire  down  there. 
I  thought  I  did  hear  a  queer  sound  last  night ; 
but  there  are  so  many  noises  in  the  woods,  and  I 
was  so  tired." 

"  And  then  in  the  morning  before  you  came,  I 
think  I  fell  into  some  sort  of  sleep  or  swoon,  and 
when  I  came  to  myself,  there  was  the  painter 
couched  just  ready  for  its  spring,  lashing  its  tail 
like  a  cat.  And  there  lay  both  rifles  loaded  just 
out  of  reach  of  my  hand ;  but  they  might  as  well 
have  been  ten  miles  off,  for  I  could  n't  move. 
And  the  beast  seemed  to  know  how  helpless  I 
was,  for  it  crouched  and  drew  back,  and  put  its 
head  on  one  side,  and  made  believe  it  was  going 
to  jump,  just  as  I  've  seen  a  cat  do  with  a  mouse 
she  'd  caught.  I  called,  though  I  did  n't  think 
there  was  a  living  soul  anywhere  near;  and  then 
I  heard  the  shot,  and  I  never  knew  anything 
more    till    I    found    you    both    over    me.      I  've 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  237 

treated  you  awful  bad  ;  but  I  don't  think  you  'd 
want  me  to  suffer  any  more  than  I  did  last  night 
and  this  morning." 

"  Oh,  Sam,"  said  Allan,  greatly  moved.  "  We 
did  n't  want  you  to  suffer  at  all.  Did  we,  John?" 

"  I  did  at  first,"  said  John.  "  I  felt  as  if 
nothing  could  be  too  bad ;  but  I  've  got  all  over 
it  now." 

"  I  suppose  I  've  stolen  more  than  enough  to 
send  me  to  State's  prison,"  said  Sam,  after  a 
silence. 

"  Oh,  father  will  never  prosecute,  if  he  gets  us 
and  the  things  back  safe ;  and,  besides,  you 
repented,  and  were  coming  back  with  what  you 
had  taken.  That  makes  it  very  different.  Don't 
it,  Allan?" 

"  Of  course  it  docs.  I  'm  so  glad  you  did,  for 
I  liked  you  so  well,  Sam.  I  could  n't  bear  to 
think  of  your  doing  such  a  thing.  There  !  there ! 
It 's  all  made  up  now ;  and  if  matters  were  ever 
so  much  worse,  who  could  come  down  on  you, 
now  you  are  so  helpless  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  think  is  the  matter  with  me, 
sir  ?  "  asked  Sam,  as  Allan  sat  down  beside  him. 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  have  hurt  your  back  some 
way,"  said  Allan,  gently;  "  but  I  hope  it  will  be 
better  after  a  little." 


238  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Are  your  parents  over  in  Keeseville  ?  "  asked 
John. 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I've  done  what  will  go  nigh 
to  kill  them.  I  had  as  good  a  home  and  as  kind 
a  father  and  mother  as  any  boy  need  have.  I've 
got  no  excuse,  for  I  was  brought  up  respectable, 
and  taught  to  be  honest.  If  I  'd  minded  my 
father  and  mother,  I  need  n't  have  been  in 
trouble.  Father  always  said  I  was  too  fond  of 
money,  and  would  some  time  do  something  mean 
for  the  sake  of  it ;  and  many  's  the  time  mother's 
said  it  was  hard  for  any  one  to  keep  on  the 
straight  line  that  was  as  anxious  to  lay  up  money 
as  I  was ;  but  I  thought  I  knew  more  than  they 
did." 

"  You  are  really  sorry,  I  am  sure,"  said  John, 
who  felt  embarrassed,  and  hardly  knew  what  to 
say. 

"  Sorry  !  "  said  Sam,  with  a  groan.  "  Well, 
there 's  no  use  talking  :  I  deserve  all  I  've  got." 

The  boys  looked  at  each  other.  They  longed 
to  comfort  Sam,  but  hardly  knew  how. 

"  Sam,"  said  Allan,  taking  the  boy's  hand, 
"  why  don't  you  ask  God  to  forgive  you "?  " 

"  It  don't  seem  as  if  he  could,"  said  Sam,  draw- 
ing his  hand  away;  "and  my  hand  isn't  fit  for 
any  gentleman  to  touch." 


THE   SILVER    RIFLE.  239 

"  Don't  you  believe  we  forgive  you,  when  we 
say  we  do  ?  "  said  John,  bending  over  him. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  but  it 's  more  than  I  can  under- 
stand. It  is  n't  only  what  I '  ve  got  to  go  through, 
and  the  disgrace,  and  all :  for  there  won't  be  a 
man  round  that  will  speak  to  me:  but  it's  think- 
ing how  mean  I  was  to  you,  that  trusted  me  so. 
I  'm  as  bad  as  Benedict  Arnold." 

"  But  God  will  forgive  you  if  you  truly  repent. 
Won't  he,  John  ?  " 

"To  be  sure,"  said  John.  "  Why,  the  Bible  is 
all  full  of  it ;  and  I  'm  sure  you  were  trying  to 
do  your  best  to  make  up  for  what  you  had 
done." 

"  And  if  we  two  boys  that  were  so  angry  with 
you  can  get  over  it,"  said  Allan,  "  why  certainly 
our  Father  in  heaven  will.  Ask  him,  Sam. 
If  you  would,  you'd  feel  better." 

"  I  '11  try,  sir,"  said  Sam,  humbly  enough,  and 
he  turned  his  face  away  and  was  silent. 

That  night,  as  the  boys  were  preparing  their 
supper,  they  heard  a  sudden  rustling  in  the  woods 
beneath  them.  Their  first  thought  was  that  the 
panther's  mate  had  come  to  look  for  him,  and 
they  sprang  up  rifle  in  hand. 

The  next  minute  an  old  Indian  came  out  of 
the  thicket  upon  the  little  plain.     With  a  polite 


240  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

nod  and  smile  to  the  boys,  he  called  to  some  one 
beneath  him  in  his  own  language.  Instantly  he 
was  joined  by  the  younger  Sanantone,  who,  on 
seeing  the  boys,  sprang  forward  with  a  triumphant 
whoop. 

"  You  the  lost  boys  ?  "  he  said. 

"That  we  are,"  said  Allan,  joyfully.  "Did 
you  come  to  look  for  us  ?  " 

"  No ;  we  were  hunting  that  little  scoundrel 
that  robbed  you,"  said  Sanantone,  and  then  seeing 
Sam,  who  hid  his  face,  the  Indian  looked  at  the 
three  in  wonder. 

"  He  started  to  bring  the  things  back,"  said 
Allan,  hastily,  "and  lost  his  way,  and  fell  down 
and  hurt  himself;  and  we  've  got  the  rifle  and 
all.     Where 's  our  father?" 

"  Out  looking  for  you.  I  would  n't  wonder  if 
you  saw  him  before  long,  if  the  dog  follows  your 
trail.  You  mean  little  villain  !  "  continued  San- 
antone, turning  fiercely  on  Sam.  "  I  'in  a  great 
mind  to  shoot  you  as  ever  I  had  to  shoot  a  wolf." 

"Oh,  now,"  remonstrated  Allan.  "There's 
no  use  in  that." 

"  JSTo,"  said  John.  "  And  he  was  trying  to  find 
his  way  over  to  our  camp,  and  take  back  the 
tilings.     Were  you  not,  Sam  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Sam,  faintly ;   "  but   I  don't 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  241 

expect  any  one  will  believe  me  after  what  has 
happened." 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  Sanantone,  haugh- 
tily.    "  It 's  easier  to  lie  than  it  is  to  steal." 

"  Well,  we  believe  him,"  said  John,  who  had 
not  thought  of  doubting  the  truth  of  Sam's  story. 
"  And,  any  way,  nobody  hits  a  man  when  he  is 
down,  you  know." 

Sanantone  tossed  his  head,  snuffed  the  air  like 
a  young  colt,  and  turned  from  Sam  with  a  gesture 
of  contempt. 

Old  Tin  Kettle  had,  in  the  meantime,  been 
examining  the  panther-skin,  which  the  boys  had 
fastened  down  to  dry  at  a  little  distance. 

"  Who  kill  um  painter  ? "  he  asked,  in  his 
sweet  voice. 

"  My  brother  did,"  said  Allan,  proudly.  "  It 
was  just  going  to  spring  on  Sam,  when  he  saw 
him." 

"  Pretty  smart  boy  !  "  said  the  venerable  sage, 
in  a  tone  of  approval.  "  Pretty  well ! "  and 
then  he  added,  in  his  softest,  most  insinuating 
tones,  "you  no  got  sixpince  for  poor  Ingin?" 

Young  Sanantone,  who  prided  himself  on  his 

civilization,   and   could  read  and  write,   looked 

somewhat  shocked  at  this  appeal ;   and  as  Allan 

poured  the  money  from  his  pocket-book  into  the 

21  Q 


242  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

old  man's  hand,  he  feigned  to  be  wholly  ignorant 
of  the  transaction. 

"  Do  you  really  think/'  said  John,  "  that  our 
father  will  be  here  ?  " 

"  'Spose  he  find  your  trail,  guess  he  will,"  said 
old  Tin  Kettle,  well  pleased.  "  Dis  young  man's 
brother  he  take  dog.  Dis  young  man  he  take 
me.  He  pretty  good  on  trail ;  but  not  so  good 
as  ole  Ingin.  He  waste  him  time,  learn  your 
books,  make  black  marks  on  paper,  write  and 
read  you  say,"  and  the  old  gentleman,  with  a 
grunt  expressive  of  contempt  for  those  frivolous 
accomplishments,  squatted  down  before  the  fire 
and  lighted  his  pipe.  He  took  no  more  notice 
of  Sam  than  if  he  had  been  a  log,  and  Sam  kept 
his  head  under  the  blanket,  and  pretended  to  be 
asleep.  But  his  heart  was  full  of  bitter  self- 
reproach  and  sorrow,  for  he  well  knew  how  differ- 
ently the  two  men  would  have  met  him  in  his 
helplessness  had  they  not  known  his  story.  Then 
the  old  man  would  have  pitied  him,  and  young 
Sanantone  would  have  been  kind  as  a  brother. 

"  Perhaps  I  can  find  a  deer  somewhere  about," 
said  Sanantone.  "  I  rather  think  I  can  shoot  a 
little,  though  I  have  wasted  my  time,"  he  added, 
with  perfect  good-nature.  "  Will  one  of  you 
young  gentlemen  come  with  me  ?  " 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  243 

"  I  will,"  said  John.  "  My  brother's  ankle 
is  a  little  weak ;  and  it  has  pained  him  a  good 
deal.     I  think  he  'd  better  keep  still." 

Allan  yielded  the  more  readily  that  he  did  not 
quite  like  to  leave  Sam  alone  with  the  old  Indian. 

"  I  wish,"  said  John,  as  he  went  away  with 
Sanantone,  "  that  you  'd  believe  that  poor  fellow 
when  he  says  he  was  coming  to  give  himself  up. 
I  'm  sure  he 's  telling  the  truth." 

Sanantone  smiled  slightly,  and  made  no  answer. 
He  would  not  contradict  John ;  but  in  his  heart 
he  thought  that  Sam  had  imposed  upon  the  pity 
and  inexperience  of  the  boys  with  a  made-up  tale. 
John  saw  that  it  was  useless  to  argue  the  ques- 
tion ;  but  he  was  convinced  that  poor  Sam  in  his 
helplessness  had  told  the  truth,  and  determined 
to  stand  by  his  friend. 

The  deer  hunt  was  successful,  to  John's  great 
satisfaction,  and  in  little  more  than  an  hour  he 
and  Sanantone  returned  to  the  camp-fire  with  a 
fine  piece  of  venison. 

They  found  Allan  with  his  boot  off;  and  indeed 
it  was  as  well  off  as  on,  for  it  had  become  the 
mere  shadow  of  a  boot,  the  boys  for  the  last  two 
days  having  been  barefoot  in  all  but  name. 

The  old  Indian  was  rubbing  the  swollen  ankle 
softly  with  his  long  thin  fingers,  and  murmuring 


244  THE    SILVER    EIFLE. 

over  it  certain  mysterious  sounds  supposed  to  be 
highly  efficacious  in  aboriginal  practice.  Then 
he  wrapped  it  up  in  some  leaves  dipped  in  warm 
water,  and  assured  Allan  that  presently  it  would 
be  "  a  heap  better."  Whether  it  was  the  rubbing 
the  leaves,  or  the  charm,  or  all  combined,  certain 
it  is  that  in  a  little  while  Allan  found  his  lame- 
ness greatly  diminished,  and  by  morning  he  could 
walk  with  perfect  ease. 

The  two  Indians  looked  at  one  another  as  John 
raised  poor  Sam  in  his  arms,  and  tried  to  make 
him  eat  a  portion  of  the  supper  which  he  was  too 
miserable  to  touch;  but  neither  the  old  nor  the 
young  man  made  any  comment,  and  Sam  did  not 
dare  to  address  them. 

About  nine  o'clock  that  evening,  a  big  hairy 
animal  bounded  into  the  circle  of  the  camp-fire, 
jumped  upon  John,  and  knocked  him  down,  and 
went  tearing  about  from  one  to  the  other,  bark- 
ing, whining,  yelping,  and  dancing  in  an  ecstasy 
of  delight. 

"Why,"  cried  Allan,  "it's  Michael's  old 
Sport !"  and  to  the  surprise  of  the  two  Indians,  the 
boys  hugged  and  kissed  the  old  dog,  almost  as 
much  beside  themselves  as  he.  Sport  dashed  back 
into  the  bushes,  and  presently  returned  with 
Michael,  Sanantone  the  elder,  and  Mr.  Fitz  Adam. 


THE  SILVER   RIFLE.  245 

The  other  men,  with  true  delicacy  of  feeling, 
withdrew  to  a  little  distance,  and  talked  to  one 
another  until  the  father  and  sons  could  a  little 
recover  from  the  joy  and  emotion  of  reunion. 

Then  the  boys  had  to  shake  hands  with  every 
one,  and  hear  the  story  of  the  search,  and  tell  the 
tale  of  their  wanderings.  They  softened  Sam's 
crime  as  much  as  possible,  and  told  how  he  had 
been  tempted  by  Gus  Marshall,  for  whom  they  felt 
by  no  means  so  much  compassion.  They  insisted 
on  the  fact  that  he  had  repented,  and  was  on  his 
way  to  restore  the  stolen  property.  But  they 
were  sorry  to  see  that  not  one  of  the  men  would 
believe  this  part  of  the  story,  resting  as  it  did 
only  on  the  word  of  one  who  had  been  guilty  of 
such  treachery. 

Seeing,  however,  that  the  boys  would  really  be 
troubled  if  they  gave  way  to  their  indignation 
against  Sam,  and  having  beside  a  half-contemptu- 
ous pity  for  his  helpless  condition,  the  men  were 
silent  on  the  subject,  and  ignored  Sam's  exist- 
ence. Mr.  Fitz  Adam  went  and  knelt  down 
beside  him,  where  he  lay  motionless,  wishing 
that  the  earth  would  open  and  swallow  him 
up. 

"  Are  you  very  much  hurt  ?  "  he  asked,  rather 
coldly. 

21* 


246  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Not  hurt,  sir ;  only  I  can't  move,"  said  Sam, 
in  a  whisper.    - 

"  Oh,  father  !  "  said  Allan.  "  Don't  be  hard 
on  him  :  I  know  he  did  mean  to  bring  the  things 
back." 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  did,"  said  Sam,  sadly ;  "  but  I 
don't  expect  any  one  can  believe  anything  I  say. 
It's  no  wonder." 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  felt  some  softer  feeling  stirring 
within  him  as  he  looked  at  the  helpless  boy,  so 
little  while  ago  a  model  of  strength  and  activity, 
and  noticed  his  utter  misery  and  humiliation. 

The  stolen  property  was  safe.  His  boys  were 
beside  him  uninjured,  and  had,  as  he  thought, 
shown  great  courage  and  manliness  in  the  way 
they  had  borne  themselves  during  their  perilous 
journey.  God  had  preserved  and  given  him 
back  his  sons,  and  had  matters  been  much  worse 
than  they  were,  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  was  not  a  man 
to  be  hard  on  the  broken-hearted  creature  before 
him. 

"  Well,  well,  my  poor  fellow,"  he  said.  "  You 
have  hurt  yourself  more  than  you  have  me. 
If  the  boys  can  forgive  you,  I  can." 

There  was  so  much  to  hear  and  tell  on  both 
sides,  that  it  was  long  before  any  one  thought  of 
going  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

CONCLUSION. 

T11HE  next  morning  the  boys  were  carried  back 
-&-  to  the  Saranac  in  triumph,  and  were  sur- 
prised to  find  that  they  were  not  more  than  six 
miles  from  their  father's  camp. 

Sam,  still  quite  helpless,  was  borne  on  a  litter 
hastily  constructed  of  branches.  He  did  not  speak 
one  word  until  they  reached  the  lake,  and  Michael 
and  Sanantone  lifted  him  to  lay  him  in  the  canoe. 

"  I  wish  you  'd  drown  me  and  have  done 
with  it,"  he  said,  despairingly. 

"  No,"  returned  Michael,  dryly.  "  That  would 
make  the  boys  uncomfortable." 

"  Do  you  suppose  my  father  knows  ?  " 

"  I  expect  he 's  down  at  the  camp,"  said 
Michael,  more  gently.  "  He  thought  you  were 
lost." 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  him"  said  Sanantone. 

Poor  Sam  looked  up  imploringly  into  Michael's 

face. 

247 


248  THE  SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  I  know  I  don't  deserve  that  any  one  should 
take  my  word/'  he  said.  "  But,  indeed,  I  was  on 
my  way  back  when  I  fell  down." 

"  Well,  maybe  he  was,"  said  Sanantone,  relent- 
ing a  little. 

"  I  'd  be  glad  to  think  so,"  said  Michael ;  "  but 
how  is  a  man  to  believe  any  one  that  laid  such  a 
plan  as  he  did,  and  against  two  innocent  young 
fellows  like  John  and  Allan,  that  trusted  him 
like  a  brother  ?  Nobody  in  the  country  ever  did 
such  a  mean  thing  before." 

Sam  turned  his  face  away,  and  said  no  more. 

I  need  not  tell  of  the  warm  welcome  which  the 
brothers  received  from  every  one,  of  the  feast  that 
was  made,  the  pancakes  that  were  baked,  and  the 
stories  that  were  told. 

Sanantone  the  younger  was  sent  down  to 
"  Baker's "  with  orders  for  the  best  dinner  the 
hotel  could  supply,  to  which  all  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood who  had  joined  in  the  search  were 
invited. 

Gus  Marshall  and  his  friends  had  gone  away, 
which  was  fortunate  for  Master  Gus,  for  great 
was  the  indignation  against  him  when  the  story 
was  known.  It  is  not  wholly  impossible  that 
had  he  been  present  "  things  might,"  as  Michael 
said,  "  have  been  made  unpleasant  for  him." 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  249 

As  to  John  and  Allan,  a  change  of  clothes,  a 
good  night's  rest,  the  sense  of  home  and  safety, 
quite  restored  the  health  and  spirits  of  those 
young  gentlemen. 

When  their  father,  supposing  that  they  had  had 
enough  of  the  wilderness,  proposed  on  the  next 
day  to  start  for  home,  they  protested  quite 
vehemently-  against  going  back  in  ten  days,  when 
they  had  come  to  stay  a  month. 

"  We  sha'  n't  go  off  and  get  lost  in  the  woods 
again,"  said  John. 

"  And,  father,  you  and  uncle  want  the  rest  now 
more  than  ever  you  did,"  said  Allan  ;  "  and,  oh, 
let  us  stay  a  few  days  longer  any  way,  and  have 
a  good  time." 

"  And  of  course,"  as  Everard  said,  "  the  boys 
had  their  own  way." 

Sam's  meeting  with  his  father  was  very  pain- 
ful to  both. 

Mr.  Irmelin  had  indignantly  refused  to  believe 
the  report  of  his  son's  baseness,  and  had  supposed 
that  he  had  gone  astray ;  knowing,  however,  that 
Sam  was  armed,  and  thinking  that  he  knew  the 
woods,  Mr.  Irmelin  had  not  felt  much  anxiety 
until  the  third  day,  when,  having  business  at 
"  Baker's,"  he  had  gone  from  thence  to  the  camp 


250  THE   SILVER   RIFLE. 

on  the  Saranac,  intent  on  disproving  what  he  con- 
sidered a  slander  on  his  son's  fair  name. 

His  grief,  on  discovering  that  the  story  was 
true,  was  extreme.  He  could  not  reproach  one 
so  helpless,  and  indeed  no  reproaches  were  neces- 
sary to  bring  Sam  to  a  sense  of  his  own  sin. 

Mr.  Fitz  Adam  and  Dr.  Fenton  tried  to  find 
some  comfort  for  the  unhappy  father  in  pointing 
out  that  Sam  was  young,  and  that  he  had  been 
tempted  by  another. 

"  No,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Irmelin.  "  It  7s 
kind  in  you  to  say  so ;  but  I  can't  shut  my  eyes, 
and  think  it's  any  better  for  him  because  some 
one  else  is  as  bad.  Besides,  he  did  not  mean  to  go 
back  to  young  Marshall ;  and  it 's  no  use  my  say- 
ing the  other  boy's  talk  put  the  notion  into  his 
head.  He 'd  no  business  to  keep  it  there;  but  I 
always  told  him  he  was  too  fond  of  money.  And 
to  lay  such  a  plot  against  the  boys  that  had  been 
so  kind  to  him,  and  that  trusted  him  !  " 

"  But,"  said  Allan,  "  he  was  coming  to  confess, 
and  bring  the  things  back." 

"  I  wish  I  was  sure  of  that,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Irmelin ;  "  but  the  trouble  is,  I  don't  know  how 
to  believe  him  now." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Fitz  Adam,  "  I  am  a 
lawyer,    accustomed    to    weighing    and   judging 


THE   SILVER  RIFLE.  251 

evidence,  and  those  who  give  it ;  and  if  it  is  any 
comfort  to  you,  I  tell  you  that  I  think  your  son 
speaks  the  truth." 

"  Do  you,  really,  sir  ?  "  said  Mr.  Irnielin,  look- 
ing relieved. 

"  Yes :  I  certainly  do.  I  think  the  poor  boy 
is  truly  sorry  for  his  wrong-doing,  because  he 
does  not  try  to  throw  the  blame  on  young  Mar- 
shall, or  to  excuse  himself  in  any  way.  I  assure 
you  he  has  our  full  forgiveness,  and  I  wish  he 
might  have  yours." 

"  And  he  saved  my  life  up  there  on  the  moun- 
tain," said  John ;  "  and  we  've  come  home  all 
right,  and  he  is  so  sorry." 

"  And  he  feels  so  badly,"  said  Allan,  "  and  is 
so  helpless.     Please  don't  scold  him,  sir." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Irmelin.  "  I  certainly  sha'  n't ; 
but  I  've  got  to  take  him  home  to  his  mother. 
I  '11  have  to  ask  some  of  the  men  to  help  me,  for, 
though  not  one  of  them  will  speak  to  him,  I  know 
they  '11  have  a  kind  of  feeling  for  us." 

Old  George  Flint,  Sam's  former  friend,  offered 
to  help  Mr.  Irmelin  take  his  son  to  "  Baker's," 
from  whence  he  could  go  by  carriage  to  Keeseville. 

The  two  boys  and  Everard,  who  pitied  poor 
Sam  with  all  their  hearts,  did  all  they  could  to 
make  him  comfortable  for  the  journey. 


252  THE    SILVER   RIFLE. 

"  Will  you  shake  hands  with  me,  young  gentle- 
men, before  I  go?"  said  Sam,  wistfully,  as  he 
was  laid  in  the  canoe.  "I  don't  deserve  it,  I 
know ;  but  —  " 

"  Why,  of  course  we  will,"  said  John.  "  Did  n't 
you  save  my  life  up  there  on  the  mountain.  I  'm 
not  going  to  forget  that." 

"  And  really,"  said  Allan,  "  now  it  is  all  over, 
do  you  know  I  can't  help  being  rather  glad  it 
happened.  It 's  better  to  look  back  upon  than  it 
was  to  go  through,  to  be  sure  ;  but  after  all,  John 
never  would  have  shot  the  panther  if  we  had  n't 
been  lost." 

Sam  smiled  faintly. 

"  You  're  very  good,"  he  said,  as  the  boys  gave 
him  their  hands  in  token  of  free  forgiveness. 
"  God  bless  you,  young  gentlemen.  Don't  you 
worry  about  me :  I  've  got  no  more  than  I  deserve ; 
but  it 's  very  hard  on  father." 

"  Oh,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Irmelin,  "  I  hope 
you  '11  get  better  before  long,  when  mother  gets 
hold  of  you.  I  can't  find  out  as  you  are  hurt 
anywhere." 

"  Ah ! "  said  old  George,  aside  to  Everard, 
"that's  the  worst  of  it.  He'd  better  a  great 
deal  have  broken  a  bone  or  two.     I  don't  believe 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  253 

he  '11  ever  take  a  step  again ;  but  it 's  no  use  to 
tell  his  father  so,  nor  him,  poor  fellow ! " 

"  We  '11  stop  and  see  you  when  we  come  back," 
said  Allan.  "  I  hope  you  '11  be  better  then.  Are 
you  sure  you  are  not  cold?  Good-by,  Mr. 
Irmelin.     Take  good  care  of  him,  George." 

The  boat  pushed  off,  and  the  three  cousins 
stood  watching  it  till  a  bend  in  the  lake  hid  it 
from  their  sight. 

Sam  was  taken  to  his  home  in  Keeseville. 

After  the  Fitz  Adams  went  home,  Dr.  C , 

taking  a  vacation  himself,  went  up  to  "  Baker's  " 
for  a  few  days. 

The  boys,  hearing  of  his  intended  trip,  begged 
him  earnestly  to  stop  at  Keeseville  long  enough 
to  see  Sam  Irmelin.  The  kind  physician  com- 
plied willingly  with  their  request.  Not  even  his 
skill,  however,  was  of  any  avail  in  poor  Sam's 
case,  and  he  could  do  nothing  but  earnestly 
recommend  Mr.  Irmelin  not  to  suffer  his  son  to 
be  tortured  by  useless  or  painful  quackery.  For  a 
wonder  Mr.  Irmelin  had  the  sense  to  take  the 
advice,  which  probably  spared  the  helpless  boy 
much  needless  suffering. 

It  was   months  before  Sam  left  his  bed,  and 
then  it  was  only  to  be  lifted  into  a  wheel-chair 
which  the  Fitz  Adams  sent  to  him. 
22 


254  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

So  long  as  he  lived,  he  never  walked  a  step  or 
stood  upon  his  feet.  The  injury  to  the  nerves  of 
the  spine  had  been  such  as  to  cause  complete 
paralysis  of  the  lower  part  of  the  body. 

Happily,  he  retained  the  use  of  his  hands,  and 
being  very  ingenious  with  his  knife,  he  managed 
to  add  something  to  the  income  of  the  family  by 
the  manufacture  of  trifles  carved  in  wood,  and 
by  making  fishing-rods.  He  procured  a  set  of 
carving  tools,  and  showed  so  much  taste  and  in- 
genuity, that  his  works  found  a  ready  sale  in  New 
York  and  at  the  principal  points  of  travel  in 
that  region. 

It  was  a  sad  change  from  the  free  out-door  life 
of  the  woods  and  waters  to  such  close  imprison- 
ment ;  but  Sam  bore  it  very  bravely  and  patiently, 
and  hardly  ever  uttered  a  complaint. 

At  first,  all  his  former  friends  among  the  guides 
and  hunters  had  nothing  better  to  say  than 
"  served  him  right." 

Then,  by  and  by,  some  one  remarked  that  after 
all  that  other  boy  was  the  meanest  of  the  two,  — 
not  that  that  was  any  excuse  for  Sam,  though. 

Next,  it  occurred  to  another  gentleman  that 
Sam  was  only  nineteen,  and  that  it  was  hard  on 
a  young  fellow  to  be  shut  up  like  that,  though  he 
might  deserve  it. 


THE   SILVER   RIFLE.  255 

Then  Michael  told  the  story  of  how  Sam  had 
turned  back  to  surrender  himself,  and  restore  the 
stolen  property,  and  said  that  he;  Michael,  had  n't 
believed  it  then  ;  but  it  might  be  true  after  all : 
he  guessed  it  was.  Then  Sanantone  the  elder 
said  that,  suppose  a  fellow  had  done  wrong,  he 
could  n't  do  any  more  than  Sam  had  tried  to  do, 
could  he?  To  which  the  younger  responded 
that  he  certainly  could  not,  and  that  it  was  n't  the 
poor  boy's  fault  if  he  fell  over  the  rock. 

Next,  it  occurred  to  some  one  that  Mr.  Irmelin 
was  a  man  who  had  to  support  himself  by  his 
daily  labour,  and  that  his  son's  illness  must  make 
things  very  hard  for  him.  It  was  also  suggested 
that  Sam's  mother  was  a  "  real  nice  woman." 

When  public  opinion  had  reached  this  stage,  it 
took  up  a  subscription,  and  sent  the  money  to  Mr. 
Irmelin  for  Sam's  benefit,  with  a  kind  message. 

As  for  Gus  Marshall,  shortly  after  the  return 
of  Mr.  Fitz  Adam  to  the  city,  that  young  person 
went  abroad  to  a  school  in  France.  Mr.  Mar- 
shall gave  as  a  reason  for  this  step  that  he  did 
not  think  the  American  system  of  education  just 
the  thing  to  "  form  the  manners  of  a  perfect  gen- 
tleman and  a  young  man  of  family." 

Perhaps  an  interview  with  Mr.  Fitz  Adam, 
and  a  note  from  the  principal  of  the  institute 


256  THE   SILVER    RIFLE. 

where  Gus  had  been  a  pupil,  had  something  to  do 
with  Mr.  Marshall's  opinion  of  the  two  systems. 

Gus  never  went  to  "  Baker's  "  again.  Had  he 
done  so,  I  fear  he  would  have  met  with  an  un- 
civil reception. 

Whether  Gus  Marshall  ever  improved,  and  re- 
pented of  his  sin,  I  am  unable  to  say ;  but  I  fear 
that  one  so  "  exercised  with  covetous  practices " 
when  young  would  not  be  very  likely  to  walk  in 
the  ways  of  honor  when  old. 

Envy  of  another,  coveting  another's  possessions, 
had  led  the  wretched  boy  to  tempt  Sam  to  betray 
his  trust,  and  had  nearly  cost  John  and  Allan 
their  lives. 

Had  Sam  not  been,  as  his  mother  said,  just  a 
little  too  fond  of  money,  he  would  never  have 
been  prevailed  on  to  commit  the  crime  which 
resulted  in  his  being  a  helpless  cripple  for  life. 

It  is  not  money,  but  the  "love  of  money," 
which  is  the  root  of  all  evil;  wherefore  I  entreat 
all  who  read  my  story  to  "  beware  of  covetous- 
ness,  wherein  is  idolatry." 


THE    END. 


y  * 


A 


